


Once Upon a Dream

by hazelNuts



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Agender Malia Tate, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Angst, Canon Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Happy Ending, M/M, Multi, Other, Pining, Polyamory, Rated For Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-06-29
Packaged: 2018-07-19 01:58:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 32,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7339936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazelNuts/pseuds/hazelNuts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The past year has been rough for the pack, and it's left its mark. A mark deep enough that at least one other supernatural creature has taken notice and wants to help them. Or do they?</p><p>
  <i>‘Such sadness. Such loss.’ They shakes their head, mouth turning down in pity. ‘I can feel no hope. No love.’</i>
  <br/>
  <i>‘It’s hard to hope when what your love keeps being ripped away from you,’ Stiles bites out.</i>
  <br/>
  <i>Scott throws his friend a warning glance, but Stiles doesn’t seem to notice, he’s completely focused on the creature in front of him.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Once Upon A Time...

**Author's Note:**

> If you think I forgot any tags, please let me know in the comments.
> 
> The beautiful art was made by [pktsknd](http://pktsknd.tumblr.com/). ([art link)](http://pktsknd.livejournal.com/1224.html)  
> Beta magic provide by [banshee-cheekbones](http://banshee-cheekbones.tumblr.com/).

Derek crouches low as he moves forward. Scott is to his left, Stiles to his right, their heartbeats and breaths quick, but steady. Jordan is on the opposite side of the clearing, coming towards Derek, his footfalls no more than a whisper in Derek’s ears from this distance. Malia is between Stiles and Jordan, while Kira and Lydia are between Parrish and Scott.

They’re moving quickly, between running and speed walking, as they close their circle around the clearing that contains their quarry, a fay. The creature wasn’t hard to track, even Stiles, with his human nose, had been able to smell them before they even entered the preserve. The fay’s scent is warm and welcoming, like freshly baked pancakes and cinnamon, like apple pie that just came out of the oven. The smells of home.

At the edge of the clearing everyone stops, staying in the shadows, as Scott steps out of the trees. The fay waits patiently for Scott approach them. They’re sitting in the grass in the middle of the clearing, cross-legged, relaxed. The fay’s back is to Derek, so he can’t see their face, but he’s pretty sure there’s a daisy chain circling the creature’s head.

‘Hello,’ the fay greets Scott. The greeting sounds like it was given through a smile.

The fay’s leisurely attitude disturbs Derek. Nothing should be this comfortable when surrounded by a pack as powerful as theirs.

‘Hello,’ Scott replies, politely, but reserved.

‘You do not seem to be happy with my presence,’ the fay says, tilting their like they’re confused.

‘Should I be?’

‘Most are.’

‘What do you want?’

Derek nods approvingly. It’s always best to get right down to business when it comes to otherworldly creatures.

‘To make life better. What else?’ The fay stands up, unfolding its long body and brushes their hands down their clothes. They’re tall, at least a head taller than Derek himself. Sweeping their arms around the clearing they ask, ‘Would you be so kind as to invite the rest of your pack into the clearing?’

Though framed as a request, it’s not. Still, they all wait for Scott to give the okay. Scott nods, and they step into the clearing with no idea what to expect.

There is a lot of mythology on Fae, or the Fair Folk. So much, in fact, that it would take several lifetimes to sort out what is fact and what is fiction. There are some things all stories agree on. Fay are beautiful, usually in the way that a shark is beautiful, a beauty that should be observed from a safe distance. They’re old, even though they don’t always look it, and more connected to nature and the universe than any other being. The Fae come in all varieties, short, tall, skinny, fat, with wings, without eyes, two legs, fins, blue skin, part animal, part stars. There’s isn’t much Fae can’t do, except lie. Which means that when this fay said they wanted to make life better, Derek knows they were telling the truth, but Fae are also crafty; telling a lie isn’t the same as omitting part of the truth. So, who exactly do they want to make life better for?

The pack forms a half-circle in front of the fay, with Parrish and Kira at the ends, at the fay’s side, to cut off the fay’s escape route in case they think of running, and Scott is in the middle. Derek stands next to Scott and can finally see what the fay looks like. They remind him of the elves in _Lord of the Rings_ , elegant, with long, soft looking hair, and a youthful face. The eyes are a little too large for the face, reminding Derek of bug eyes, and pointed teeth are bared by the wide grin on the fay’s face.

The fay moves their gaze from one packmember to the next, scrutinizing each of them carefully before moving on, and with each person their grin fades a little more.

‘Such sadness. Such loss.’ They shakes their head, mouth turning down in pity. ‘I can feel no hope. No love.’

‘It’s hard to hope when what your love keeps being ripped away from you,’ Stiles bites out.

Scott throws his friend a warning glance, but Stiles doesn’t seem to notice, he’s completely focused on the creature in front of him.

Derek can’t blame Stiles for being angry at the fay’s words. Things haven’t gotten better, not in Beacon Hills, and not within the pack. Scott, Kira, Lydia and Stiles were supposed to go to college last fall, Malia wanting to stay behind to help Derek with renovating the house he’d just bought, but things were so hectic none of them dared to leave Beacon Hills. And after what happened with the truth pollen at the start of spring, Scott barely managed to hold the pack together.

A pissed off witch sent each of them a bouquet of the damn flowers. The small, yellow and white flowers looked so beautiful and innocent, none of them suspected what would happen when the flowers started blooming that night. It took them almost a day to realize what had happened. By the end of the week, when the effects had finally worn off, those of them in a relationship were once again single, Braeden left, Parrish nearly went back to the army, Stiles moved out of his dad’s place, and no one could look at each other for a month.

They’d chased off the witch and undid the damage he’d done, but they haven’t really been a _pack_ since.

On the upside, nobody has died in almost a year. Hayden, Liam and Mason are even about to finish their junior year with good grades. Which is also why they weren’t allowed to come tonight, they have finals this week.

‘But true love doesn’t need hope to survive,’ the fay says. ‘It’s—‘

‘—the most powerful thing in the world?’ Stiles finishes with a snort.

The fay doesn’t hear, or simply ignores, the sarcastic tone. ‘Exactly,’ they exclaim, eyes shining with excitement.

‘There is no such thing as true love,’ Derek can’t help saying. ‘True love and happy endings only exist in fairy tales.’

‘No, they do not,’ the fay says firmly, as they turn their eyes land on Derek.

Their eyes are not shining from excitement, Derek realizes. They’re actually _shining_ , like small stars.

Scott growls, crouching down and tensing for the attack. Derek mirrors him, and from the corner of his eyes he can see Malia doing the same. The glow of the fay’s eyes reflects off Kira’s raised katana.

If they doesn’t stop the lightshow soon, the fay is going to be ripped to shreds.

‘I know exactly what to do,’ the fay grins, seemingly unperturbed by the treat before them.

Scott and Malia jump forward at the same time, and Derek shifts into his full wolf. Stiles draws his guns and lines up his sight. Kira lets lighting run across the blade of her katana. Parrish’ eyes start glowing like embers, his clothes smoking. Derek hears air filling Lydia’s lungs, as she digs her feet in the ground.

None of them are fast enough.

The fay’s glow burns brighter fast.

Derek pumps his legs harder, he’s faster than any of the others, his body built for speed.

The light is almost blinding now, like a supernova.

The scent of apples mixes with gunpowder when Stiles fires his guns.

Derek jumps for the fay’s throat.


	2. Three Little Wolves

_ "Then I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll blow your house in."  _

_ So he huffed, and he puffed, and he blew the house in. _

 

-The Story of the Three Little Pigs

* * *

 

‘Cora!’

‘I’m coming!’

Laura grabs her sister’s hand and pulls her with her after Derek.

‘There’s a wheat field up ahead,’ Derek yells over his shoulder. ‘We can lose them in there.’

Laura nods. It’s not exactly the direction they were going in, but there’s plenty of time for course correction after losing their pursuers. When they catch up to Derek, Laura lets go of Cora’s hand and takes the lead again, running straight into the field. She focusses on what’s beyond the field. The smell of open air on one side, flat land, nowhere to hide. The smell of green and damp earth, animals, life, growth, slightly to her left. A forest. She changes her direction, knowing Derek and Cora will follow. If they can just—

Laura flinches at the roar of the berserkers. They must’ve reached the edge of the field. The roars aren’t quite loud enough to drown out the snarl of the jaguar, though.

‘There’s no escape, little wolves!’ Kate yells.

‘Fuck you!’ Laura yells back.

‘Great, I’m sure that scared her off,’ Derek mumbles under his breath.

‘Or didn’t give away our position,’ Cora adds.

‘Shut up. Run faster.’

Derek and Cora grunt, but do as they’re told. Laura knows they can’t run as fast as her, or as long, but they’re almost there. They’re so close.

A gust of wind brings the smell of smoke and the heat of fire with it.  At first Laura thinks it’s from a nearby village, or even a camp, but the scent is too strong and too close. The village would have to be in the middle of the wheat field. When she catches the orange glow from the corner of her eye, Laura barely keeps herself from tumbling to the ground. Glancing back at her siblings, she sees their eyes are wide with fear. Kate set the wheat on fire, either to smoke them out or to burn them. Either way, Laura refuses to be herded. They’re wolves, not sheep.

The flames close in faster than they can run, and Laura feels her wolf skin itching under her human skin. They’re faster as wolves, but undressing and shifting takes time. If they stop, the flames will overtake them. But if they keep running, they can get to the trees before the fire, they can put distance between themselves and Kate, who is on the other side of the fire.

‘Is that our forest?’ Cora asks, hopeful.

‘Almost.’

They reach the treeline, but don’t stop running. They run past trees, through bushes, jumping over roots, and animals that don’t manage to get out of their way in time. They run until they reach a small stream. Cora nearly falls in, face first.

‘I can’t,’ Cora gasps. ‘I need—‘she tries to fill her lungs with oxygen, her breath rasping, chest rising and falling quickly‘—need to rest.’

‘Okay.’ Laura drops to the ground next to her.

Derek is leaning against a tree, his legs shaking, shirt stained with sweat. There’s mud all over his trousers and his face looks grimy. Probably from soot from the fire.

‘We need a place to hide,’ Derek pants.

‘We need to lose that damn cat first,’ Laura says. She dips her hand in the stream, trying to wash off the dirt from her hands and arms, then splashes water in her face. ‘Hiding is useless if she’s still on our tail.’

‘Where are we, anyway?’ Cora asks, sitting up and looking around. ‘It looks familiar.’

‘We lived close by. Before the fire.’ Derek sits down next to them, pulling Cora close. He was the one to pull Cora out of their burning house. Since then, he’s always pulled her close when he gets scared, using his protectiveness to mask his fear. They all pretend it works.

Laura blocks out her siblings and she tries to think. She’s the eldest, the Alpha. It’s her job to find shelter, to get them to safety. This part of the forest is easy to get through. Kate will find them within a day. But if they can get to their old house before nightfall, they have a chance. The forest turns into a wilderness beyond their property line. Technically, it had still been part of their territory, but mom never allowed them to go there without an adult, their senses still too weak to find their own way home if they got lost. But their mom isn’t here anymore, and they’ve all become full-grown werewolves in the ten years since the fire.

Laura regards the little stream they’re sitting by, the water so clear she can see the bottom. When she washed her hands earlier, she could feel the rocks against her fingertips. It’s not deep, maybe just above her ankles. It’s not very fast either. It might be just what they need to throw Kate off their scent.

‘Get up. We’re going.’

Derek pulls Cora to her feet. ‘You good?’

‘I’ll be fine,’ Cora says, rolling her eyes and shrugging off her brother’s hand.

Laura senses her siblings’ displeasure as she guides them into the water, but thankfully neither of them complains. The water is cold, almost just as freezing as the ice and snow it came from in the mountains, and it quickly starts seeping into their boots.

‘Why don’t we shift?’ Cora asks after only a little while, teeth chattering. ‘We’ll be harder to track.’

‘Because we just got these clothes. And it’s not like we can steal new ones in a forest. And being forced to stay wolves will make us vulnerable to all hunters.’

Things had been going well. They’d found a village close to their territory, where the people were nice. They’d made friends. They’d made something that started to resemble a home. Then Kate found them. It had been several years since the woman had caught their trail, and Laura was starting to hope it was over, even dared to hope Kate was dead. Of course they weren’t that lucky, because Kate didn’t just come back, she came back stronger.

All Laura had cared about was getting her siblings away from that psycho, so without a moment’s hesitation, she led them to the edge of the village, where they shifted. They ran for days. Traveling by night and hiding during the day. Kate  had to lay low during the day too, her berserkers drawing too much attention. When they couldn’t run anymore, but had to keep moving because Kate was still following them, Derek sneaked into a house where the family was away, and stole some clothes and money. They travelled one town over, as humans, to buy food, shoes and shelter with the money. Barely a day had passed when news came of a killed hunter, his throat slashed by what the town’s people believed to be a mountain lion. The three of them knew better and started running again.

It was Derek’s idea to go back to their old home. The woods were wild and dangerous, humans could only survive at the edge of it, but werewolves would be able to live in its heart. If necessary, they could even track into the mountains beyond their territory.

‘Don’t think you can hide behind some wooden sticks,’ Kate yells. It’s faint; the jaguar probably only just reached the edge of the forest, having to wait until the flames had died.

‘One day I’m going to rip that fucker’s throat out,’ Laura grumbles.

‘Can you save it for a day when we’re not all completely exhausted?’ Derek grumbles back.

‘I’ll do it tomorrow.’

They continue through the creek for another mile or so. Their feet are freezing and their toes are blue by the time they get out. If they’d been human, they would’ve caught their death.

‘We should reach the house before nightfall,’ Laura assures her siblings.

And she’s right; the sun barely starts to set when the burned out shell of their former home is visible in the distance. It’s overgrown with grass, and a small tree is standing in the middle of their living room. Tears prick behind Laura’s eyes and the familiar ache of missing her pack, and family, makes her chest feel tight. The smell of sadness wafts off Derek and Cora. Laura swallows her tears down and quickly moves towards the house.

They find the least burned and most stable place in the house to make their camp, their old kitchen. While Derek hunts, Laura and Cora clear a large enough space for them to curl up.

It doesn’t take long for Derek to return, in wolf form and dragging a small doe with him. The two girls shift, and they start eating. They’re all starved and a fire would make it too easy for Kate to find them.

They don’t shift back when going to sleep. Their furs are lot warmer than their clothes.

~

Laura wakes up first. The house stands in the middle of a clearing, and when she looks up at the sky, she sees the golden-edged clouds of the early morning drifting by. She extracts herself from her siblings. Then, after carefully scenting the air and listening to every little sound, she makes her way back the way they came. She’s barely out of the clearing when she hears the jaguar snarling commands at her berserkers. Silently and swiftly, Laura races back. She’d hoped for more time, more distance. God, when is she ever going to stop hoping? It’s never done her, or Derek and Cora, any good.

She shifts back to human form to wake up the others.

‘Don’t shift,’ she orders, in a hushed voice. ‘You need to leave.’ Derek and Cora’s yellow eyes look at her in confusion. Laura knows the confusion will turn to pleading when she explains her plan, so she busies herself with making bundles of their clothes and tying them to their backs. ‘I’m going to challenge her. I don’t know what will happen after. I don’t know if I’ll win, but I do know that you need to leave.’

Derek whines softly and pushes his nose against her shoulder.

‘If I—‘ Laura swallows, not able to finish her sentence. ‘You have to look out for each other, okay? You need to split up for now, confuse the scent as much as possible, but come back here in seven days.’

Derek and Cora stare at her with scared eyes. Derek was never meant for this. Laura loves her brother, but he gets reckless when he’s scared. And Cora shouldn’t be losing more people. She’s already lost too much for someone her age. They all have.

‘I love you.’ She pulls both of them into a tight hug. When she pulls back, she lets her eyes glow red, forcing the Alpha into her voice to make sure they do what she says. ‘Run.’

Cora and Derek take off, deeper into the forest. Before the forest swallows them up entirely, they both turn back to look at Laura one more time. She waves, then turns around, steps out of the shell that’s left of their home and waits for Kate.

It takes Kate and her cronies longer than Laura expected, but finally the jaguar steps out from behind the trees. When Kate sees her, sitting on the grass, naked, waiting, she grins a fanged smile.

‘Realized your little house wouldn’t protect you?’ Kate says. ‘It never has, after all.’

‘I realized I wanted to stop running,’ Laura says, standing up.

‘So, you’re gonna let me kill you?’

‘I’m going to let you fight me.’ Laura bares her fangs. ‘Just you and me. Your muscle stays out of it. No weapons but our fangs and claws.’

Kate tilts her head, thinking over the proposal. Her spots start to show and her eyes glow a toxic green. ‘Deal.’

Laura barely waits long enough for Kate to throw her weapons aside. She runs at the jaguar, claws and fangs extended, roaring her challenge. As she jumps, she shifts completely. The pain of shifting too quickly rips through her, but losing your pack when you’re sixteen makes you an expert in turning pain into anger.

Kate snarls in fury when Laura lands on her chest, toppling her to the ground. She slashes at Laura’s sides as the wolf goes for Kate’s throat.


	3. Illusion of Beauty

Jordan almost dares to breathe a sigh of relief when he finally steps over the threshold of the derelict castle, slams the door behind him and leans against it.  He desperately wants to believe the worst is behind him. There’ve been rose bushes, with thorns that have hands, then came the crows trying to peck out his eyes and the vines carpeting the courtyard trying to drag him into the moat. He hopes the dragon is next. He’s not sure if he’ll have enough energy to fight that monster if there are any more challenges between here and it.

He’ll try, though. He’ll give it everything he has, for Jackson. It’s his only chance.

Jordan had been sent to fight at a border skirmish, then been stationed close to a little village where the people saw monsters in the night. He’d been away from the capitol, from home, for almost a year. Most of his news, he’d gotten through rumours and whispers. One of those whispers had been about some rich kid, getting kidnapped by a witch. He hadn’t given them any credit. Rich people being put under a spell was something of the past. You don’t get rich by being stupid, so the rich had learned and made sure not to pick a fight with magic users.

On his way home, the whispers turned into rumours. Once he arrived at the capitol, the rumours turned into news: a young courtier, the son of the king’s advisor, had been kidnapped and put under a spell.

Jordan barely took the time to wash and put on clean clothes before petitioning to be allowed to find Jackson. He couldn’t even get past the first secretary. And why would he? He wasn’t a prince, or even a knight. He was a commoner, a foot soldier, one out of thousands. Nobody knew he was also Jackson’s lover for the past two years.

Where Jackson was being kept was no secret. A small army, consisting mainly of knights, princes and princesses, was already on its way to the crumbling castle to save him. But not long after Jordan came back, so did the first of the rescuers, looking wild and haunted. After another week, half of those who had left were back in the city, their own homes, or infirmaries. After two more weeks, people realized that no one else would be coming back, and the stories about Jackson’s enchanted prison got so wild that nobody dared to go. Not even promises of gold, land, rich wives, or even Jackson himself, were enough to tempt people. Jordan didn’t need these things. He just wanted Jackson back, but to do that he needed to know the truth of what he would be facing.

It took him ten drinks, and half a month’s pay, to get the story out of a pageboy to a knight who hadn’t come back. The boy told him about the hedge of rose bushes with the hands that grabbed you and impaled you on their sharp points, the vines that dragged you around the courtyard until your skin was scraped off, before they pulled you into the moat. The boy told him about the thousands of crows waiting, perfectly silent, until you came too close; then they swooped down and pecked at you until you were nothing but bone. Even if you made it past all of that, there was still the dragon. You could see it when you were still outside of the hedge, see its fire light up the skies.

Jordan didn’t have the money, the weapons, or the permission, to go. He’d be branded a deserter. If they caught him before he reached Jackson, they would drag him back and hang him. If they caught him after, he would probably be pardoned.

He was already packing when he got a visit from Lady Whittemore. Looking at Jordan’s pack, lying on his cot, the woman nodded, then handed him a heavy pouch, filled with coins.

‘For the trip,’ she said. ‘There’s a red chestnut, a white sock on its left front leg, tied to the side of the stables. It’s yours. All the rewards, everything we promised, anything you want, it’s yours.’

Jordan was momentarily frozen when he realized that Jackson had told his mother about them.

When he got over his surprise he said, ‘All I want is Jackson back.’

Lady Whittemore smiled. ‘Then that’s what you’ll get.’

His visitor left, leaving him behind to finish his packing in a mild state of shock.

Jordan rode out of the city that night.

It took him two weeks to get to the castle where Jackson was being held. It was less than a week’s ride, but he’d needed to make several stops on the way. One to visit an old friend for special armour. Marin had rolled her eyes when he’d told her what he needed. She wasn’t one to believe in heroics and fancies, but she admired those that do. It took her longer to make what he needed than he’d expected, and for several days he paced around Marin’s little house, making a nuisance of himself. There was another stop for an extra horse and clothes for Jackson, then Jordan didn’t stop until he saw the roses looming up high above him.

The handsy rose bushes were easy. The hands wanted something to grab, so that’s what Jordan gave them. He’d picked fruits, gathered rocks and pinecones, and as he made his way through the growth, he pushed them into the grabbing hands. The bushes didn’t realize they weren’t grabbing onto him until he was well out of their reach. The crows were trickier, and Jordan had to fight both them and the vines at the same time. Waving around and hacking with his sword, while hiding underneath his shield, eventually got him to the castle door. Now he just needs to find Jackson and hope he doesn’t find the dragon, or that the dragon finds him, first.

The castle is eerily quiet. No birds nesting in the rafters. No leaves rustling across the floors. Just the shifting, settling and crumbling of stone and wood. Jordan steps as quietly as he can, but in the silence his footsteps are like thunder, echoing through the empty building. He shuffles further along the hallway. Several doorways line the walls on either side. None of them have doors and all of them lead to stairways. He’ll check them later. One floor at a time. When he reaches the door to the great hall, he peers inside. Clenching his jaw, his breath comes more rapid when he sees what awaits him there.

The dragon lies in the middle of the room, curled up like it’s asleep. It’s most definitely awake, though, because Jordan is peering almost directly into its big yellow eyes. Behind the dragon, Jordan catches a glimpse of the dais where the thrones would usually be. Instead of thrones, there is only a bed. On that bed lies a figure.

Jackson.

It has to be.

From where he’s standing, Jordan can’t see if Jackson is asleep or dead, but he doubts anyone would have a dragon guard a corpse.

The room itself appears to be just as ruined as the rest of the castle. The roof is half gone, its stones littering the floor in little piles. Not much is left of the banners that used to hang proudly on the walls, the bright colours faded and the fabric ripped, decayed or burned.

There’s no point in trying to sneak into the room. Jordan doesn’t know the castle well enough to find a door that leads directly to the platform, and he doesn’t want to waste any more time now that he’s found Jackson. The dragon’s already seen him anyway, and it couldn’t have missed the ruckus those damn birds were making when trying to eat him alive.

Jordan steps through the crack in the door, his shield up and sword at the ready. The dragon blinks its eyes and stands up, looking at him curiously.

Pressing his back to the wall, Jordan starts making his way along the edge of the room, as far away from the dragon as he can, his sword and shield always between him and the monster. When he turns the corner to walk along the side of the room, a low rumbling starts. Jordan thinks the castle is about the collapse on top of him, before realizing it’s the dragon. He takes another step in the direction of the dais and the rumbling becomes a roar.

Jordan ducks behind his shield just in time. The fire roars around him, and the heat has sweat running down his face and back, but it’s not burning him. When the fire is gone, he checks the shield. The runes Marin etched into the metal glow bright red, but it’s undamaged.

‘Thank you, Marin,’ Jordan whispers.

Scratching of nails on stone. The rattling of a chain as the dragon stumbles back.

Jordan quickly walks back to the door he just came through, keeping his eyes on the dragon. It’s trying to get closer to him, but something is holding it back.

Another rattle of chains.

Jordan looks closer at the beast. Around its neck the dull grey of a metal collar is a stark contrast against the beast’s green scales. It’s stuck here, Jordan realizes. And with the chain its reach will be limited.

Jordan surveys the room. He can’t see where the chain is fastened, but it’s definitely long enough for the dragon to reach him if he goes along the walls. There are doors on each side of the dais, and one in the middle of the wall to his left, but finding his way to those doors through the castle could take hours, even days. Besides, there’s a good chance the passageways leading to those doors are caved in. The only way past the dragon appears to be through.

The dragon, still tugging at its chain, has started scrabbling at the collar around its neck, its claws leaving bloody scratches as it tears away the scales there. The beast grunts from effort and pain.

Jordan sprints along the wall, hoping to get close to Jackson while the dragon is preoccupied. He gets further than his first attempt, but not by much. There is no warning rumble. There is just heat and fire where first there wasn’t. Jordan holds his shield up and pushes into the flame to get closer to the dragon. Then the heat is gone. Jordan falters in surprise, and has barely taken another step when the monster swipes at him. He crashes into the wall, sword and shield clattering to the floor.

‘Fuck,’ Jordan mutters as he checks his head and body for injuries. His shoulder hurts, but he doesn’t think it’ll be worse than a bruise. He glares at the dragon, which is once again staring at him. ‘Fine. You want to do this. Let’s do this.’

Jordan looks around for an advantage. The banners. Some of them still reach the floor, or are close enough that he can grab onto them if he jumps. One of those is only a few feet away. He grabs his sword from where he’d dropped it and straps his shield to his back. He has no time to check the cloth for sturdiness, so he takes a running start, jumps, and climbs. Every couple of feet he turns to look at the dragon. The dragon is just sitting there, looking at him. It seems amused by the human’s antics. Jordan suspects he would be amused, too, if his food started to climb the drapes.

When he reaches the top of the banner, he pulls his sword from its sheath and brandishes it at the dragon.

‘Come on!’ he yells. ‘Come get me!’

There’s a loud rip. Jordan feels the decaying cloth falling apart beneath his hands. He tries to change his grip, but he’s already falling. The dragon dives for him.

This is it, Jordan thinks. It’s over. He’s going to be snatched out of the air like a peanut.

But the dragon overreaches, misses, and Jordan lands on its back instead of in its mouth. He grabs onto one of the spikes on its back to stop his fall, gasping at the violent tug on his arm, the pain so sharp he lets go of the spike. He lets go of his sword to grab with his other hand, but misses and slides along the dragon’s side, bumping along the rough scales, then over the soft, warm belly, to the floor. Jordan catches himself on his hands, his left arm buckling. Please don’t let it be dislocated. Scrambling up, Jordan runs for the dais, not bothering to pick up his sword.

Reaching the dais, Jordan laughs in triumph while the dragon roars in fury behind him. Jackson lies still and pale on the bed. Jordan reaches out his hand to stroke Jackson’s cheek, to check if his lover is still alive, but his hand goes right through. Jordan frowns, then tries to touch the pillows and flowers surrounding Jackson.

‘It’s an illusion,’ Jordan whispers to himself, as his hand waves through the flowers. ‘He’s not here!’ Furious, Jordan turns to the dragon. ‘Where is he?’

The dragon roars, shakes its head and starts scrabbling at its collar again. It looks at Jordan like it’s trying to tell him something, then its pupils widen and the next roar is accompanied by flames. Thankfully, the slab of rock that serves as mirage-Jackson’s bed isn’t an illusion and Jordan ducks behind it, just in time. The flames roar over his head.

His mind races. It’s not likely Jackson will be anywhere else in the castle. It would be stupid to have the dragon guard an illusion and only have a door to hide Jackson in one of the towers. What if Jordan had searched those first? He could’ve easily grabbed Jackson and left without ever seeing the dragon. No, Jackson has to be here, in the great hall, but where? The great hall is gloomy, the only light coming from the setting sun shining through the dirty windows behind the dais. There are so many dark corners Jordan can’t see in from where he’s hiding.

Jordan peeks around the corner of the stone. The dragon is tugging at the chain with its claws and the room lights up when it breathes fire over the metal. The roaring of the fire and the rattling and groaning of the chain echo through the room.

Jackson is here. He’s so close. Jordan can feel it.

A frustrated roar, then the crumbling of stone. The dragon is glaring at the chain, now, and there’s an indentation of its tail in the wall. Jordan snorts with the humanity of the beast’s behaviour. Jackson has kicked more than one table or chair when frustrated, usually at himself.

Holy shit.

Jordan sits back down again, staring out the windows. Outside, the rose hedge, not a hundred yards from the window, the purple light of twilight shining through its branches. Jordan doesn’t see any of it. His mind plays over the fight. The dragon hadn’t seemed very happy about fighting him. The few times it did attack, its eyes had done that weird thing. Maybe…

Jordan stands up.

‘Jackson?’ His voice is hoarse and catches in his throat.

The dragon jerks its head up, its eyes widening in surprise. Then the pupils widen again and Jordan ducks just in time.

Okay, he’s pretty sure his lover got turned into a dragon and spelled to attack anyone within range, but only if Jackson sees them. Jordan needs to get close to— To do what? He has no idea how to break this kind of spell. Marin told him some of the basics about breaking curses. Most of them require a connection to who the person was before the curse. Sometimes a name, sometimes a person or an object. Jackson reacted to his name, but didn’t turn back into a human, so Jordan shouting “Jackson” fifty time in a row isn’t going to work. When he’d seen Jackson lying on the tableau, Jordan thought he knew what to do. Everyone knows a sleeping curse requires a kiss. He peeks around the stone, into the great hall, where Jackson is breathing fire on the chain again. It’s not doing him much good, though. The metal is still its dull grey colour.

Jordan decides to make a run for it. He’s a fast runner. He’s pretty sure he can get to Jackson before the attack spell kicks in. He hopes.

Not thinking it over any further, Jordan shrugs his shield off his back and takes off, going straight for his goal. Jackson doesn’t see him coming until he’s less than thirty yards away. The pupils widen at fifteen. At only a couple feet, the rumble of the fire growing in Jackson’s belly starts.

Jordan jumps, grabbing onto one of the spikes on Jackson’s lower back. Jackson tries to buck him off, but Jordan holds tight. He moves from spike to spike, closer and closer to Jackson’s head. He slips on the smooth scales and nearly falls when he grabs a spike with his bad arm, pain lancing through his arm and shoulder. The spikes on Jackson’s neck are shorter, barely two hand widths high, making them tougher to hold on to. Jordan knows he only has one chance.

He grabs the topmost spike with his good hand and carefully lowers himself along Jackson’s neck. The heat makes his hand slick, and it’s already slipping on the smooth bone of the spike. Jordan prays this will work, because if it doesn’t, he’ll fall and Jackson will eat him. And not in the fun way.

‘I love you, Jackson Whittemore,’ Jordan says. He knows that if this goes wrong and Jackson kills him, Jackson will blame himself. He wants Jackson to know he loves him, even now, when he’s almost entirely certain Jackson is going to roast him alive.

Jordan plants a kiss on Jackson’s enormous jaw. It’s scorching, and Jordan has to pull away sooner that he likes, his lips tender.

A shudder goes through Jackson. Jordan lets go, landing on the stone floor with a grunt and then quickly crawls away. With fascination and horror he watches the dragon peel away. First the skin, then the muscles and fat, the bones, the innards, all falling away and turning to ashes the moment they hit the floor. Then the collar crashes to the stone floor, and it’s just Jackson.

Jackson drops to his hands and knees, panting. There are soot marks all over his skin, and red scratches at his throat. He looks at Jordan.

‘Took you long enough,’ Jackson grumbles.

‘Sorry for not realizing that the giant, fire-breathing lizard was my lover,’ Jordan says.

Jackson snorts, then pushes himself up on shaky legs. He stretches long, his muscles flexing, making a show of it.

Jordan watches eagerly. He’s missed Jackson, missed his casual showing off, his smirk, the way he turns into an absolute softy when it’s just the two of them. Like right now.

Jackson kneels next him, brushing the hair from Jordan’s face, eyes shining with tears.

_ “In a few hours there sprung up around the castle a hedge of thorns,  _

_ which year after year grew higher and higher,  _

_ till at last nothing could be seen of the castle above it,  _

_ not even the roof, nor the flag on the tower.” _

 

\- The Sleeping Beauty in the Wood

* * *

 

‘You okay?’

‘I missed you.’ Tears form in Jordan’s eyes and trickle to the floor. He reaches up a hand to brush Jackson’s tears from his cheeks.

‘How long’s it been?’

‘Almost two years. I couldn’t come sooner. I’m so sorry.’

Jackson nods, then leans down to press their lips together. Jordan winces and Jackson pulls back.

‘Sorry,’ Jackson whispers, brushing his fingers around the sore skin.

Jordan looks out of the windows. It’s dark now. Traveling through the forest at this time isn’t the best idea, but he doesn’t want to keep Jackson in this horrible castle any longer than necessary.

‘We should get going.’ He pushes himself up and collects his sword and shield.

Jackson hesitates.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘I missed you. I thought about you all the time. When we… If we go back, I’ll just go back to missing you.’

Jordan pulls Jackson closer with a grin. ‘No, you won’t. Lady Whittemore promised you to me if I brought you back.’

‘And you think my parents will honour that promise? For you?’

It’s a fair question, but one that Jordan doesn’t want to think about.

‘Well, else I’ll just have to kidnap you. It’s apparently very easy.’

‘Very funny. Let’s go.’

Jordan huffs out a laugh when his butt-naked boyfriend starts walking towards the front door. He runs to catch up when he remembers the vines and ravens. Their enchantments probably broke too, but he’s not willing to bet Jackson’s life on that.


	4. Gingerbread Houses

_ “Presently a voice came out of the cottage: _

_ ‘Munching, crunching, munching. _

_ Who’s eating up my house?’” _

 

-Hansel and Grethel

* * *

 

‘Don’t worry, Stiles. I can find the way back, Stiles. I’m sure it’s perfectly safe to eat the magical cookie house, Stiles,’ Stiles mocks at the little spider, spinning its web across the beams supporting the roof of the little house. He hasn’t slept. The floor he’s lying on is cold and hard. At least he isn’t hungry, but under the circumstances, he’s not sure that’s a good thing.

‘Hey, I’m the one being enslaved here,’ Scott protests, groaning under the heavy weight of the iron pot as he drags it across the floor, away from the hearth.

‘You’re right. I’m only going to be eaten!’ Stiles flails himself to a sitting position, wincing when his hand hits one of the bars of his cage. ‘That’s not worse at all!’

‘We just… have to stay calm. We can figure a way out,’ Scott says, sounding like he’s trying to convince himself just as much as Stiles.

‘How? I’m not strong enough to break these bars or the lock. You can’t even touch them because they’re made of mountain ash. Creepy witch put a collar on you that takes away a lot of your wolfy powers and makes her your slave. Did I miss anything?’

‘Yeah, I’m pretty sure she’s planning on eating you today.’

‘Oh god.’ Stiles groans and buries his face in his hands.

There’s the clink of iron on stone and when he looks up, Scott is sitting on the ground in front of him, as close to the cage as he can get.

‘We’ll figure it out,’ Scott says again with more emphasis. ‘We always do.’

Stiles can’t help but get a little infected by his friend’s optimism, because Scott’s not wrong. As long as they’re together, they can figure it out. They figured it out when Scott became a werewolf. They figured it out when Scott’s dad turned out to be an asshole and left Scott’s mom on her own. They figured it out when Stiles was too scared to let his dad out of his sight for more than a moment, after his mom passed. They have each other’s backs and as long as that remains, things will be fine.

‘First step: get that collar off you,’ Stiles says. He stands up, brushes straw and dust off his trousers, and gets right up to the bars of the cage. ‘As long as you’re wearing that thing you can’t fight her or disobey her. Can you come closer?’

Scott is obviously relieved at the glimpse of a plan forming in Stiles’ head. He gets up and stands as close to the cage as he can. Stiles peers at the iron collar through the bars. It’s a simple, metal band with binding runes scratched into it. This collar is especially made for shapeshifters, forged in a mountain ash fire, wolfsbane smouldering in the embers so the smoke fuses into the metal. Stiles looks for any weaknesses, both in the magic and in the collar itself. The collar seals magically, so there is no lock to break.  Scott can’t break it, because he’s wearing it; it’s part of the spell. Magical collars are tough, the magic reinforcing the metal, so it can’t be snipped through with a pair of clippers. Then Stiles sees something he’d missed earlier that week: a speck of rust. It’s not much, but it might be enough. If the integrity of the metal is compromised and Stiles can damage or change the right rune, the collar should fall off, or lose its effect at the very least.

‘Get me a knife. One with a long handle or a long blade.’ Stiles had almost gotten out the first day by picking the lock, but the witch came back before he was done, and spelled the bars so Stiles couldn’t put his hands through them again.

Scott pulls back, grinning. Without a word, he bounds over to the table with the witch’s instruments. He points at one of the knives, then looks at Stiles.

‘This one good?’

From what Stiles can see, the knife has a wide blade, but a very sharp point. The handle is long and sturdy looking.

‘Perfect,’ Stiles grins.

Scott grabs the knife, but when he tries to lift it, his arm locks. He groans and hangs his head.

‘She told me not to give you any weapons. Nothing sharp,’ he explains.

Damnit.

‘I need something metal that is somewhat pointed. It doesn’t have to be sharp,’ Stiles urges.

Scott lets go of the knife, looking around the little house. His eyes fall on the oven.

‘Will a poker do?’ Scott asks.

Stiles nods and Scott quickly hands him one of the pokers. It has the length, but the point is too dull to leave any mark on the collar. He’s going to have to sharpen it. Setting the point of the poker on the floor, he scrapes it across the stones.

Scott claps his hands over his ears at the sound. ‘Oh god, that’s horrible.’

‘Yeah, but it’s less horrible than getting eaten,’ Stiles points out.

They talk to pass the time and distract Stiles from the pain in his hands and arm muscles from gripping the poker so tightly. A lot of things have happened in the past week; being captured by a cannibalistic witch is just one of them. They’d volunteered for a mission to the capitol, to petition the king. Someone had set fire to what would’ve been their winter supply of grain. Even if they were careful now, a lot of villagers would go hungry, might even die, before next spring.

Stiles’ dad and Scott’s mom hadn’t been happy when they’d volunteered. It was a dangerous journey, though not because of robbers. With an apprentice druid and a werewolf for sons, they knew about the things that didn’t just go bump, but also tore people apart, in the night. Stiles had pointed out that him knowing magic and Scott being a werewolf was what made them so perfect for this mission. They knew how to keep themselves safe. His dad and Melissa couldn’t argue with that, so Scott and Stiles set out. Aside from the survival of half their village resting on their shoulders, it was an exciting trip. It was the first time either of them had gone more than a day’s journey from home.

It would take them at least a week to reach the capitol, and they had no idea how long it would take to get to the king after that. If they got that far. Only two days into the journey, it hadn’t looked like they would.

They had plenty of food for the journey, but a week’s worth of water isn’t something you can carry on your back. They’d been looking for a place to fill their skins when Scott heard the bubbling of a spring and raced ahead. Stiles went after him, to find Scott pointing dejectedly at a sign.

“Whoever drinks this will turn into a deer,” the sign said. It could’ve been a prank, but they decided to keep walking. Besides, they still had some water left. They could last a couple more hours. The next source of water was a well. They didn’t even bother pulling up the bucket. Next to the well was a sign: “Whoever drinks this will turn into a fox”. Stiles cursed under his breath, but they kept walking. By nightfall, their waterskins were empty and they were thirsty. They’d cheered at the sound of another spring. It was small, just a trickle coming up out of the ground. Stiles groaned when he saw the sign next to it. It said: “Whoever drinks this will turn into a wolf”.

‘This has to be a prank,’ Scott said.

‘Yeah, by a forest witch who thinks it’s hilarious to turn people into animals. What are you doing?’ he yelled when Scott reached out his hand to the spring.

‘I’m going to drink it. Besides, I already am a wolf.’ Scott flashed his yellow eyes, shining bright in the late afternoon gloom.

Before Stiles could stop him, Scott had already taken a sip.

‘See, I’m fine,’ Scott said triumphantly, a moment before he started growing hair everywhere. His nose got longer, and a tail popped out from under his clothes.

‘Yes, you’re totally fine,’ Stiles agreed. ‘I can see that by how you can no longer walk on two legs.’

Scott had looked at him so pitifully, tugging at the clothes he was still wearing, that it only took Stiles one rant about always heeding warnings for magic, before helping Scott out of them. Stiles can’t deny that sleeping next to a furry animal was a lot warmer than just having a blanket.

They’d kept walking the next day, Stiles all the while thinking up ways to turn Scott back. The easiest would be to find the person who’d enchanted the spring, but it was also the hardest. It was possible the person was dead, or on the other side of the earth. In the end, none of Stiles’ theories would have to be tested. The next night was the full moon, and once the moon set, Scott simply turned back into himself. For the next two days, Stiles hadn’t shut up about the possible reasons for it. Had the spell simply worn off? Did it have something to do with Scott being a werewolf? Or was it the moon?

Their troubles had seemed to be over, but then their food got stolen by tiny woodland creatures. Stiles told Scott it was fine to kill those evil critters and eat them, because they’d eaten their food, but Scott had looked so upset by the idea of killing a family of bunnies that Stiles gave up.

When Scott smelled baked goods, it didn’t really seem to matter, because, well, cakes and cookies. Stiles should’ve known that it was a witch’s house since it was entirely made of gingerbread, but he’d been hungry. And no matter how trained in magic you are, a luring spell is almost impossible to resist. After only a few bites from a windowsill, they’d both fallen unconscious. Stiles woke up in a cage and Scott woke up with a collar around his neck.

‘Done,’ Stiles says, thrusting the sharpened poker triumphantly in the air. Light catches the sharpened tip, making it ping.

Scott looks a little hesitant, which Stiles can understand, since he’ll be poking what is basically a featherless arrow by his friend’s neck, but Scott steps closer anyway. The angle and distance make it awkward and Stiles nicks Scott’s neck a couple times, but eventually the damage to the collar is done. It doesn’t fall off, but the nicks in Scott’s neck heal instantly and Scott’s eyes burn bright yellow.

‘We’re going to high five once I get out of here,’ Stiles grins.

‘How are we going to manage that?’ Scott asks, eyebrows raised. ‘You can’t reach out of the cage, I can’t touch it at all, and the witch has the key.’

‘You know, I didn’t think you would ever give in to pessimism. Welcome to the club, buddy,’ Stiles grins, still giddy about his small success.

Scott rolls his eyes, but grins back at Stiles. Scott has his powers back. They actually have a chance of escaping now.

Scott stills, his head tilting like he’s listening for something. ‘She’s coming back,’ he says.

Stiles quickly hands the poker to Scott, who slams the point into the floor, dulling it, then sets it back by the oven. Stiles lies back down on the floor, glaring at the spider who is now sitting in the middle of its finished web. Scott resumes his chore of cleaning the pot. Probably the pot Stiles will be cooked in.

They’ve just gotten into position when the witch strolls in, pushing back the hood of her cloak. The face she’s chosen is beautiful, with soft feminine features, and long brown hair falling in waves over her shoulders. A part of Stiles wonders if that’s her original face. Dark magic leaves its mark and nobody who eats other people would be able to retain beauty like that for long, and going by how the witch has been treating Stiles, she’s been at it for a while.

‘Get me some water,’ she says offhandedly. There is no force behind her words; there doesn’t need to be when you have a werewolf magically bound to you, forced to obey your every word.

Scott sets down the cauldron and the brush he was using to clean it, grabs the water bucket and walks out the door.

‘Have a nice day?’ Stiles asks, pushing himself up to sit against the wall. It’s the only side of his cell not made of mountain ash, and while the outside is made of gingerbread, sadly, the witch had thought to use bricks for the inside. Else Stiles would’ve eaten his way out on the first day. ‘Hurt a lot of people? Made any children cry?’

‘No to the last question, but we’re only halfway through the afternoon,’ the witch smirks. She drops her cloak, revealing the basket she’s holding. It’s filled with herbs. Stiles detects the red berries and serrated leaves of mistletoe, the black berries of belladonna, the purple flowers and humanlike roots of the mandrake, and the ice crystal flowers of the hemlock. All of them are poisonous. All of them key ingredients for dark magic.

‘Cooking up a spell?’

‘Oh, I’m cooking up something delicious tonight.’

A chill runs down Stiles’ back.

Scott comes back just then, and neither the witch or Stiles says anything else. The witch because she doesn’t care, and Stiles because he’s too busy imagining the witch’s demise.

Stiles doesn’t get a chance to talk to Scott for the rest of the day. The witch doesn’t leave the cottage and keeps Scott out of the door as much as she can. She has him chopping wood, getting more water, and gathering wolfsbane. Stiles fumes when she gives that last order. Scott could disobey now that the collar no longer works, but it would give away their one small advantage. Scott knows this, of course, and telling Stiles to shut up with his eyes, he goes outside. The witch outright grins when Scott comes back with his hands bleeding.

Night is falling and they don’t have a lot of time left. Scott keeps glancing nervously from Stiles to the darkening windows. Stiles still hasn’t come up with a plan, or a way to communicate that theoretical plan to Scott without the witch seeing. Stiles really hopes Scott came up with something during all that wood chopping.

‘Light the oven,’ the witch orders.

Scott nods stiffly, clenching his jaw. He glances at Stiles and shakes his head. Scott has no more ideas than Stiles does. A fire is soon blazing cheerily in the oven. The witch looks at it with excitement and hunger, the light casting ugly shadows over her beautiful features.

‘Now put in the plate.’

Scott looks at the huge metal sheet. ‘I don’t think it’ll fit,’ he says.

‘Of course it will.’

Scott tries to lift the sheet, but it slips out of his hands, cutting into his palms.

‘I can’t lift it. It’s too heavy.’

Stiles frowns. How can that sheet be too heavy for Scott? He can lift up Stiles like he weighs no more than a chicken so he should easily— Oh. Stiles ducks his head so his smirk doesn’t betray him.

The witch huffs, annoyed, pushes Scott aside and grabs the metal sheet. She lifts it easily and slides it into the grooves in the oven. She leans forward to make sure it’s steady, which is when Scott slams the oven door closed. The witch loses her footing and stumbles forward, hitting her head on the top of the oven. She tries to fumble back up, dazed, confused, giving Scott the opportunity to rip the key from the cage from the chain around her neck and shove her into the oven. He slams the bolt into place. Doing a quick victory dance, Scott goes over to Stiles to open the cage.

Stiles tumbles out of his prison, into Scott’s arms. They hug each other tightly in victory and relief. Stiles pulls back and holds up his hand. Scott throws his entire weight into the high five.

‘Let’s get out of here,’ Stiles says, rubbing his sore palm. ‘Can you break the collar?’

Scott slides his fingers between the collar and his neck, and grips the metal tightly, gasping when the wolfsbane bites into the still healing wounds on his palms. His eyes turn yellow and his fangs snap out from the effort, but the collar stays put.

‘Damnit. We’ll go to Deaton’s. He’ll know how to break it. Or it might come off when she’s done baking,’ Stiles says, pointing at the oven.

They grab their packs from where the witch had carelessly thrown them into a corner, and run out of the house. They’ve barely made it two steps out the door when a blast of heat pushes them forward, throwing them to the ground.

Stiles shakes his head, trying to get rid of the ringing in his ears. He looks over his shoulder. The house has exploded. Gingerbread, candy and bricks fall from the sky. The smell of burned sugar fills the air. In the middle of the wreckage stands the witch, her clothes mostly burned and ugly patches of melting flesh on her arms and legs. The pretty glamour she’d put on her face has melted away. Stiles can barely make out any features. The only thing that makes it recognizable as a face are the eyes, sunken deep into the lump of flesh that is the witch’s head.

The witch staggers forward, faster than she should have been able to after being half burned alive. Stiles scrambles back, trying to get away from her, but the blast has left him disoriented. He searches for Scott, and finds him staggering to his feet a couple yards away. The witch doesn’t seem to care about Scott, though; she’s solely focussed on Stiles. She pulls something out of her robes. It gleams in the early evening light. A mirror. She raises her arms as high as she can and smashes it to the ground, right in front of Stiles. The glass shatters into a hundred pieces.

‘You’re late for tea,’ she grits out, the hole in her face that serves as a mouth turning up into a horrifying grin. The witch opens her mouth again, but before she can say anything else, she collapses

Stiles nudges her with his foot, but the witch doesn’t move again. He looks at Scott in confusion. Scott isn’t looking back at him. He’s not even looking at the collar lying on the ground at his feet, that must’ve fallen off when the witch died, but at the ground in front of Stiles. Scott’s eyes are wide in shock. Stiles follows his gaze. The mirror shards are rising up, floating into the sky, their mirrored sides facing Stiles. They rush at him.

Stiles throws his arms up to protect his face.

Scott screams his name.

Stiles’ world shatters into a million pieces.


	5. The Girl in the Tower

_ “Presently he saw a quantity of long golden hair  _

_ hanging down low over the window-sill,  _

_ and the witch climbing up by it.” _

 

\- Rapunzel

* * *

 

This is too easy, Boyd thinks to himself, looking at the patch of sunlit grass just visible at the end of the tunnel. So far, nothing about the past year, about finding Erica, has been easy. He’s had to pay with blood or money, and sometimes both, for every scrap of information, most of which then turned out to be useless. The information that got him here was one that he, oddly enough, got for free. It was just a rumour, but he’s paid dearly for less.

‘A valley,’ the man sitting behind him in the tavern had said, the slur in his voice lowering the credibility of what followed. ‘A valley so green, so beautiful, and just as deadly. A maiden inna tower who lures you to y’r death. Hair like the sun and wit as sharp as a knife. Tha’s what they say.’

Boyd held his breath, hoping for more, but the man and his companions moved on to other topics. He’d sighed. Drunks had such short attention spans.

The next morning, Boyd packed his things, paid the keep, and walked into the forest, his horse traded for food months ago. He walked for days without a hint of the valley he was looking for. Nothing but trees and mountains around him. When he curled up in a small cave last night, he gave himself one more week. One week to chase this rumour, and then he would move on to the next. But when he woke up this morning, he found that the cave was actually a tunnel.

Boyd rolls up his blanket and grabs his pack, shoving them in front of him as he crawls toward the grass at the other end. While the mouth of the tunnel had been high enough for Boyd to stand in, and wide enough for him to sleep, it quickly narrows. He isn’t worried about getting stuck. He’ll hack away the entire mountain if it means getting to Erica. His pack and blanket smooth the path for him a little, but there are still plenty of sharp rocks for his arms to scratch themselves on. Sand sticks to him as the effort of pushing himself through the small space makes him sweat. Finally, he reaches the end of the tunnel and pushes his pack out onto the grass and to the side. He digs his fingers into the earth beneath the green grass and pulls himself out.

His shoulders, arms and knees hurt from scraping against the tunnel walls and floor, but Boyd doesn’t notice. If he did, he’d think it was worth it.

The valley is just as the man described. The grass is a lush emerald green, interspersed with flowers of every colour. A small copse of trees stands at the far end. Apple trees, Boyd thinks. His stomach rumbles, reminding him he hasn’t had breakfast yet. Next to the trees, the ground sparkles like it’s covered in diamonds: sunlight breaking on water.

The tower is the only thing to disturb the beauty and serenity of the valley,  sprouting from the earth, made of dark grey stone that seems to suck up all the light. A plant is using the tower to climb up, maybe looking for the sun the tower blocks out almost completely. There are large windows with fluttering curtains all around the top of the tower. Boyd can see someone, or something, moving around inside.

Too late, Boyd realized that nothing in this valley can be natural. It’s all too perfect. He presses his back against the wall next to the tunnel entrance, scanning the valley. He should’ve been more careful. A place this magical, this beautiful, is obviously a trap. There could be curses, horrifying monsters, or holes in the ground filled with spikes, lying in wait for careless admirers.

Boyd waits.

Then waits a little longer.

Nothing happens. There is no sound but the wind.

Boyd unbuckles his sword, dropping it next to his pack. The blade is all but useless, dull, it’s edges nicked. One blow would probably shatter it. He only carries it to let other people know he can protect himself. The knife strapped to his thigh is a different story, and when Boyd pulls it out, the sharp edges glint in the sunlight. With his common sense returned, Boyd is all too aware of how vulnerable he is right now. There is nowhere for him to hide, or escape to, but the tunnel. Any sort of real shelter is at the other side of the valley, between the trees.

Slowly, knees slightly bent, walking on the balls of his feet, Boyd moves toward the tower. The hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Someone is watching him. He glances around the valley, but there’s nothing hiding in the tall grass or behind the apple trees. There is no figure at any of the windows either. It could be someone hiding in the mountains, a spyglass trained on him as he moves closer and closer to the tower.

His instincts are on high-alert, screaming at him to run!hide!leave!, but he can’t give up now. He could be ten yards away from the end of his quest.

Arrived at the tower, he walks around its base, looking for a way in, but there’s nothing. No door. No hatch. No stairs. Not even a simple rope ladder. There is just the plant, its branches covered in sharp thorns. It looks sturdy, the branches almost as thick as his forearms. He walks around the tower again, this time looking up instead of down, hoping to find that the thorny branches go high enough for him to climb up. On the side away from the tunnel entrance, the branches have grown high enough to reach a window.

Boyd sheaths his knife. He glances around the valley and the surrounding mountains one last time, looking for his watcher. They haven’t taken their eyes off him, but they haven’t done anything else either. There have been no spells or curses, no creatures jumping out to attack him. All Boyd can do is hope they won’t attack him while he’s climbing a plant of undetermined origin, fifteen feet off the ground.

He grips one of the branches above his head, sets his foot on one of the lower ones and pushes himself up carefully to make sure it’ll hold. He’s a big guy and it wouldn’t be the first time a foothold snapped because of his bulk. But the branch holds and he breathes out in relief. This might just work.

He’s just lifted his other foot off the ground when he hears a growl behind him. Before Boyd can grab his knife, or even turn around, something grabs him by the belt and pulls him to the ground. Landing on his back, all the air pushes out of him. Coughing, Boyd rolls onto his stomach, jumping up into a low crouch as his hand goes to his knife.

When Boyd looks up, it’s right into a pair of bright blue eyes. He backs up, pulling out his knife and cursing the fact he left his wolfsbane in his pack. But then, a werewolf isn’t something you expect in a place like this. Fairies maybe, or pixies, maybe even werebunnies if there is such a thing.

This one can’t be very old, Boyd thinks. Their full shift is much smaller than other werewolves he’s encountered. In fact, now that he’s really looking, he realizes the animal in front of him isn’t a wolf at all. The head is too narrow, the ears a little too big, pointing straight up at the sky, and the fur is brown mixed with grey, while werewolf furs are usually one colour and rarely grey. It’s a coyote.

Boyd doesn’t know much about werecoyotes, or coyotes in general. They’re smart, tricky and fast. This means that Boyd has to be smarter, trickier and faster. He grips his knife a little tighter, reassured by the weight of it in his palm.

The coyote doesn’t miss the movement. Lips pull back in a snarl, revealing a row a sharp fangs that Boyd has no doubt would sink into his skin like a knife into butter.

The coyote circles Boyd, and Boyd moves with them. Having placed themself between Boyd and the tower, the coyote slowly advances, driving Boyd back to the tunnel. Realizing what the coyote is doing, Boyd stops, rolls to the left. He jumps up before the coyote can place themself between him and the tower again, and sprints toward the building.

But with four legs to propel them forward, the coyote is a lot faster. They jump on his back, toppling Boyd to the ground. Boyd rolls onto his back, but before he can get up, the coyote plants their paws on his chest, keeping him down. Boyd switches his grip on his knife. He probably won’t be able to kill the beast, but if he can hurt it bad enough, he might have a chance to climb up the tower.

‘Stop! Malia, get off him!’

Boyd freezes. He barely notices the coyote getting off him, or that the animal is still growling at him. In fact, Boyd doesn’t notice anything but the shape leaning out of the window, long blonde hair glinting gold in the early morning sun. He staggers to his feet. Shielding his eyes from the sun, he looks up. The person is too high up to make out any distinctive features, but he knows that voice, knows the tilt of the head, knows the wave of that hair.

‘Erica?’ It’s barely loud enough to carry up to the window.

‘Hey, Boyd,’ Erica says almost casually, like she saw him just yesterday.

Boyd’s mind is whirling. He’s found her. He’s finally found her. After all those bogus leads and nights filled with false hope, he’s finally found her on a half-rumour he overheard from a drunk. He’s not sure whether to laugh or cry.

‘Your hair’s longer,’ Erica notes.

‘I haven’t really had time to shave in the past year,’ he grins up at her. ‘I was a bit busy.’

‘I like it.’

Boyd can’t do anything but smile. He’d been scared that after everything he went through this year, and what he assumed Erica was going through, they would have trouble reconnecting, that they wouldn’t be them anymore. But standing here, at the bottom of the tower, looking up at her, he feels the most normal he has since Erica went missing.

‘I’m coming up,’ he says, reaching for the branches on the wall.

‘No!’ Erica shouts, just as the coyote knocks him to the ground again.

Confused, Boyd looks up at Erica. ‘Why not?’

‘Grab one of the branches and then look up at the top.’

The moment Boyd’s hand touches the plant, it starts to shrink, the branches retreating from the window. The longer he holds on, the faster the plant retreats. If he’d climbed up there, he would never have been able to climb down fast enough by the time he noticed he was running out of branches. He would’ve fallen on the ground, probably breaking something. At that though, Boyd looks down at the ground by his feet. The green grass has disappeared under a net of thorny branches. The plant didn’t shrink, it crawled down. If he’d fallen, he wouldn’t just have broken something, he would’ve been impaled on the thorns. He would’ve died.

Boyd lets go of the branch and stumbles out of the net of branches at his feet, which are now crawling back up the tower wall.

‘Thanks,’ he says, looking at the coyote. If they hadn’t pulled him off on his first attempt to climb up, he wouldn’t be standing here. He looks back up at Erica. ‘I can’t go up. So how do I get you down?’

‘Malia knows,’ Erica says.

‘Malia?’ Boyd frowns in confusion, before realizing Malia’s the name of the coyote. He turns, looking expectantly into the bright blue eyes.

‘Malia can’t tell you.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because coyotes can’t talk,’ Erica retorts, like it should be obvious. Before Boyd can argue that Malia is a werecoyote and has a human form, Erica already continues, ’Malia’s stuck. Sit down. I better tell you the whole story.’

Boyd sits down and makes himself comfortable. This might take a while, because Erica is not a good story teller, skipping over details she later remembers are actually important, dwelling on things she finds hilarious and have absolutely nothing to with the point she’s trying to get to. But he’s known her for a long time, has listened to many of her stories, so by the end of it, he easily puzzles out what Erica is trying to tell him.

Erica’s parents’ first child had been stillborn. They were both excited and scared when Erica’s mother became pregnant again, so they made a deal with a witch. The witch told Erica’s mother she could eat from the witch’s garden, to ensure the baby’s health. In return, the child would live with the witch, learn magic from the time they were ten till the witch taught them everything she knew. Erica’s parents readily agreed. They’d get ten years with their child and wouldn’t have to pay for any apprenticeships or find them a job, because there was already one waiting for them.

Erica’s tenth birthday was less than a month away when her mother decided she didn’t want to part from her daughter. She’d already lost her husband the year before. She’d be left on her own. They ran, and when the witch didn’t come for Erica, they thought they were safe.

Several years went by, and Erica’s mother thought the witch had forgotten all about the bargain, but witches have long memories and a knack for vengeance. She’d simply waited, waited until her revenge would hurt the most. The witch kidnapped Erica the night before her wedding to Boyd.

The witch locked Erica in a small cell in a basement. Malia had been in the cage next to her. Erica didn’t know why Malia was there, but it took her very little time to realize Malia was a shapeshifter. The witch had put a spell on Malia, so the werecoyote’s control over their shift from human to coyote slipped further away each day, until Malia could no longer turn back to human. For what Erica guessed was about a week, she had to watch Malia struggle to stay in control. To distract Malia, Erica told the coyote about Boyd and her mother and the wedding she was supposed to have had. When human, Malia managed to tell Erica a little about how the witch captured them. With a friend to talk to, being locked up in a basement that always smelled like the inside of a cookie, but a hundred times more intense, wasn’t so bad.

When the witch found out the two of them had bonded, she was furious, immediately punishing them for it. Malia became stuck in their coyote form, and the witch whispered the way out of the tower into their ear.

The next day, Erica found herself stuck in the tower, and Malia was prowling at its base.

‘There has to be a way to turn Malia back?’ Boyd wonders.

‘Remind the coyote they’re human too,’ Erica says. ‘That’s what the witch said, but nothing I’ve done has worked so far.’

‘And you can’t make a rope from curtains or clothes?’

‘Oh, wow, I definitely didn’t think of that on the first day.’

Boyd doesn’t need to see Erica’s face up close to knows she’s looking extremely unimpressed. Refraining from asking what else she’s tried, he tries to think of something that would’ve been impossible for her to attempt.

There’s a rope in his pack, but it won’t be strong enough. It’s made for tying things down, not holding the weight of a person. He could use it to tie the branches climbing up the tower together in something that resembles a rope ladder.

Grabbing one of the branches, he sets his knife to it. Malia growls, and when Boyd glances at them, Malia is crouching low, getting ready to jump.

‘I’m not climbing it, I’m cutting it,’ Boyd assures them.

The knife slides through the branch, but the branch disintegrates in his hand after only a moment. His groan of frustration is copied by Malia and Erica.

‘Is there anything here that might help?’ Boyd asks the coyote, gesturing around the valley.

Malia nods towards the trees, then trots off. Boyd follows, feeling Erica’s eyes on his back. He doesn’t hold out a lot of hope for the trees. Even from the tunnel, they’d looked young, skinny. When they arrive, he sees he was right. The branches of the trees are thin, barely the width of a finger, and would snap if he tried to use them as steps for a ladder, but they’re too tough and thick to braid them.

Boyd’s stomach rumbles. He looks up at the sun, seeing that it’s almost noon, and he hasn’t had a bite to eat today. He reaches for an apple, its red and gold skin make his mouth water, but Malia growls low in warning.

‘Poisonous?’ Boyd guesses.

Malia nods, then gestures at the stream.

‘Don’t eat the food, don’t drink the water,’ Boyd deciphers with a sigh. ‘Where do you get your food?’

Malia nods toward the tunnel. Of course. The coyote could fit through far more easily than Boyd did. Right now, he doesn’t have the time to push himself through the little hole though, so he grabs the last of the bread and cheese from his pack, and munches on the food while he follows Malia around the valley.

They search the valley until dark. They find crawling vines near one of the cliffs, the branches long and tough, and Boyd starts braiding them into a rope immediately, Malia pacing circles around him and Erica asking if he was done yet every few moments. When Boyd estimates the vine-rope is long enough, he throws it up to Erica. Before the rope is halfway to Erica’s window, it catches fire, the ashes blowing away in the wind.

‘Shit!’ Boyd yells in frustration.

‘We’ll figure it out,’ Erica tries to assure him, not sounding very hopeful herself.

Malia nudges a wet nose against his hand, in an attempt at comfort. Boyd drops down on the grass next to the coyote. He lies down, looking up at the darkening sky, part of his view blocked by the looming tower. Malia licks his hand, then disappears. Boyd’s not sure how long he lies there, Erica singing down to him, a soft melody she’d made up just for him not long after they’d met.

It’s completely dark by the time Malia comes back, dropping a dead rabbit and a dead bird next to his head.

Right, eating.

‘Thank you,’ Boyd smiles at them. He extends his hand and Malia lets him give them a scratch behind their ear.

Boyd roasts the bird and half the rabbit, while Malia munches on the other half.

‘You want any food?’ Boyd shouts up at Erica when it’s done.

‘Don’t need it,’ Erica says, then chuckles at Boyd’s stunned silence. ‘You could say my bodily functions froze, except for sleep, thank god. Can you imagine being awake for an entire year? I don’t even need to wash. Haven’t had my period in a year, either. Which was a nice break.’

Boyd pulls a face, but doesn’t respond out loud, letting Erica wait for the reaction that’s not coming.

‘Spoil sport,’ Erica grumbles.

They eat in silence. Malia can’t talk, Boyd is still thinking on how to get Eric down, and he suspects Erica’s mind is similarly occupied. The conclusion they’ve both come to, that neither of them is saying, is that the only way for Erica to get down is with whatever the witch told Malia. But Malia can’t tell them, and they have no idea how to turn them human. Not that Boyd is giving up. No, he’ll build himself a little hut right next to that tower if he has to. He’s not leaving Erica.

‘You can come closer to the fire, you know,’ he tells Malia, who’s lying just outside of the light’s reach. ‘Unless the rabbit wasn’t enough and you’re planning on eating me? Because then you should stay over there.’

Malia drops down with a huff and what Boyd thinks is an eye roll, then takes his hand between their teeth and gnaws on it, careful not to break the skin.

Boyd chuckles. ‘You and Erica will get along great once we get her out of that tower and you back to human.’

Happiness and anticipation sparks in Malia’s blue eyes.

‘Do you have anyone out there for you?’ he asks. ‘Is there someone looking for you like I was looking for Erica?’

It takes a minutes, then Malia makes a move that reminds Boyd of a shrug.

‘My mom’s still back at home, but I’m not sure she misses me. I think Erica’s mom likes me better.’

Malia’s head is suddenly in his lap, giving him some extra warmth. Most of the heat of the day still hangs in the air, trapped between the mountains, but Boyd isn’t sure how long that will last. Nights can get very cold in the mountains.

‘There was an accident when I was a kid. My sister…’ Boyd swallows. It’s still hard to think of Alicia’s accident.

Malia whines softly, eyes sad and understanding.

‘You too?’ he asks. ‘That why you don’t have anybody?’

Malia curls closer. Boyd rubs his hands through their fur.

‘I’m sorry.’

Boyd decides it’s time to get some sleep then. A lot has happened today, and it’s drained him both physically and emotionally. He curls up on his side on the soft grass, facing the fire, tugging his blanket close around him. Malia curls up against his back, comfortable and warm.

Boyd is woken up the next morning by Erica’s loud cheering. She’s chanting his and Malia’s name. He’s about to ask what happened, but doesn’t need to once he’s opened his eyes. It’s pretty obvious. The coyote is gone, and instead there is someone of about his and Erica’s age sitting next to him, naked, with messy brown hair and wide brown eyes.

‘Malia?’ he asks.

The person nods and Erica shouts, ‘Yes! That’s Malia! Boyd, I don’t know what you did, but whatever it was, it worked!’

Boyd can’t stop staring at Malia. He has no idea what he did either.

Malia raises their eyebrows. ‘Can I have some clothes?’

Boyd quickly averts his eyes, his cheeks heat up as he scrambles to give Malia his spare set of clothes. They’re far too big for them, but Malia doesn’t seem to care. When they’re dressed, Erica and Boyd look at them expectantly. Malia clears their throat.

The key turns out to be a song. A simple melody with words no more complicated than a children’s rhyme. When Erica sings it, her hair starts growing. She stops in shock.

‘Keep singing,’ Boyd grins.

Erica sings until her hair is long enough to reach the ground from the window. She cuts it off, then braids it. Malia and Boyd wait with baited breath as Erica climbs down. The braid doesn’t quite reach the ground, but Boyd catches Erica easily when she lets go and drops the last couple feet.

‘Let’s go home,’ Boyd whispers, hugging his fiancée close.

Malia stands back a little, giving them space, or maybe not sure if they’re included in this. Boyd keeps holding on to Erica with one arm and pulls Malia into his side with the other. Malia stands stiffly by his side at first, then relaxes into him.

‘You’re coming, too,’ Erica nods, grabbing Malia’s face and planting a kiss on their forehead.


	6. Stroke of Midnight

_ “The prince himself picked [the slipper] up;  _

_ it was very small and elegant, and covered with gold.” _

 

\- Cinderella

* * *

 

Scott blinks at the spot Stiles was lying just a second ago. He blinks again, but what he sees doesn’t change: nothing but a couple broken pieces of mirror. He closes his eyes, the scene playing out in his mind in slow-motion. The mirror shards rushing at Stiles. Stiles trying to protect his face. One shard hits home. The ground opens up, like a giant rabbit hole. Stiles falls down the rabbit hole.

Scott opens his eyes. There are bricks, shattered cookies and candies, and splintered wood all around, except for where that hole had appeared. A near perfect circle of green grass, with the shards of the mirror on top of it. Not a single edge of the glass lies outside of that circle.

Scott hadn’t had the time to so much as blink before the hole closed up again.

‘Shit,’ Scott mutters. ‘Shit! Shit!’

He keeps his eyes fixed on the glass as he approaches the spot, but the glass is just glass now, doing nothing but reflect the sky above. There is a faint trace of magic in the air above the circle, along with Stiles’ quickly fading scent. The witch’s body lies a few feet away, but Scott ignores it. She can’t help. Or cause more trouble. She’s dead.

Scott looks to the north, the way he and Stiles had been walking, towards the capitol. He turns around and starts walking south, back into the forest, back towards home. There is still time. If he goes home now, they can still send someone else. If he goes home now, they can start searching for Stiles immediately.

He’s barely stepped foot into the forest when he remembers his and Stiles’ backpacks. He races back. Stiles’ is lying at the edge of the glass circle. Scott grabs it, but isn’t sure what to do with it. In the end, all he takes out of it are some herbs and some magicky things he doesn’t know the purpose of but Stiles takes with him everywhere. He also takes the necklace Stiles’ mom had given to Stiles on her deathbed. At the last moment, Scott thinks to take the pieces of glass with him. He wraps them and the mirror frame in a shirt, and places the little package at the bottom of his pack. He’s not sure what to do with it, but maybe Deaton, Stiles’ teacher, will.

When he’d shoved the witch into the oven, night was already falling, but Scott doesn’t want to make camp so close to the witch’s house. He’s been walking for at least an hour, but can still smell the burned gingerbread cookies. Scott’s shoulders slump. He should be out of range of that awful smell by now. Scott rubs a leaf under his nose, hoping to get rid of the burned cookie smell, then sniffs the air again. Scott realizes that what he’s smelling isn’t gingerbread cookies. It is a familiar scent though. It reminds him of laughter, warmth and happiness, but there’s an edge of fear to it.

Scott follows the scent, out of curiosity, but also because he’s too tired to resist the instinct. The trail leads him to a house. It used to be beautiful. Scott can see how it used to be a home. He can see the outline of what the garden used to be, a fountain, animal statues, the stables, a swing set, but everything is overgrown and falling apart now. Home is being choked out by thistles, moss and ivy. The scent leads Scott into the garden. The edge of fear and pain has grown to almost overshadow that scent of home now. Scott’s almost certain he’s smelling blood as well.

He takes off his pack, rests it against the fence of the property, then pulls himself up. He goes slowly. It’s not uncommon for people living in the forest to have some kind of magical barrier around their property. Even the dilapidated look of the house could be a magical illusion.

But there is no barrier, nothing pushing him out when he drops to the ground on the inside of the fence. Unfortunately, the state of the house doesn’t improve either. No illusion.

Scott scents the air again. Aside from that familiar smell, there are several others, all werewolves. Scott breathes deeply, fingering the torn sleeve cuff in his pocket. His breath sticks in his throat. His heart stutters when realization hits. Confusion and anger follow each other in quick succession.

That scent, the one that led him here, the one that reminded him of laughter and warmth and happiness, it’s Isaac’s. Beautiful, funny, sarcastic, shy Isaac. And Isaac is scared and hurt. Scott has to focus everything he has on staying calm, or he’s going to lose control and tear into the house like a feral animal.

He presses his back against the fence, gripping the bars, letting the rust bite into his palms. He needs to think. He needs to figure out what is going on with Isaac. It could be nothing. Isaac could simply be having a bad day, a scare in the woods.

It could be nothing.

Or maybe…

Scott recalls the last time he’d seen Isaac. It had been at a party in a village not far from here. Scott and Stiles had been staying there with Deaton’s sister, Marin, because Deaton needed something from her, but she refused to give it to him. Stiles and Scott hadn’t had any success, but the trip wasn’t entirely for nothing. Scott had met Isaac.

It had been a three day festival, and Isaac had come every night. The third night, Isaac had seemed nervous, and when Scott asked him, Isaac told him it was just because Scott would be going back home soon. Scott hadn’t thought anymore about it, because that was making him nervous too. Would he ever see Isaac again? Would he ever be able to tell Isaac that he’s a werewolf? Would he ever get to kiss those lips and run his hands through that blond hair?

Nearing the end of the night, while they were dancing, Isaac had frozen mid-step, his eyes wide, colour draining from his face, jaw set so tightly Scott thought Isaac was going to break his own teeth. Isaac’s heart hammered so loudly it pounded in Scott’s ears, fear coming off him in waves. Before Scott could ask what was wrong, Isaac ran off. He’d grabbed Isaac’s arm to try and stop him, but Isaac had ripped his arm out of his grasp. All Scott was left with was the shirt cuff.

Scott shakes the images out of his head. Doing his best to not breathe in the scent of Isaac’s terror, he tries to thinks. With the werewolves inside, he won’t be able to sneak up on the house. They probably already know he’s here. So he can’t just leave either. They might follow him, demand to know what’s going on. It could go badly. There is only one thing he can do.

Scott makes his way through the weeds, to the path leading to the front door. He’s not going to hide. He’s going to knock on the front door. He brushes the dirt off his clothes and drags his fingers through his hair in an attempt to make himself look presentable. In the little stained glass window set in the door, Scott sees that he still looks like he just almost got blown up. Not much he can do about that.

Before he can knock, the door is thrown open and Scott is faced with not one, but two Alpha werewolves. Alpha One is standing in the doorway, Alpha Two a couple feet back. They’re obviously twins.

Alpha One raises his eyebrows. ‘Can I help you?’

Scott grapples for an excuse to be here. To buy himself a little time, he puts on his brightest smile. The guy at the door blinks, then smiles back. Alpha Two sighs and Scott is pretty sure he rolls his eyes.

‘Hi, I’m Scott,’ he starts. He’s going to have to keep his lies small, so he won’t have to control his heart rate too much. He’s never been as good at it as Stiles. ‘I work for the Mahealanis.’

It’s not a complete lie. The Mahealani family is one of the richest in this county and owns more than half the land. And since he is on mission for a large part of the county, he’s also on a mission for the Mahealanis.

Alpha One perks up. ‘You know Danny? I’m Ethan.’

‘Oh, he’s talked about you,’ Scott says. He knows it was the right thing to say when Ethan preens. ‘He’s part of why I’m here.’ He pulls the cuff out of his pocket again. ‘I need to find the owner of this.’

Ethan’s eager expression goes confused. ‘Why would that lead you here?’

‘I thought I picked up a scent here,’ Scott says.

Ethan holds out his hand, but Scott pulls his hand back.

‘The scent’s gone from it. I’ve been looking for a while.’

‘So you could be wrong about the scent?’ Alpha Two asks, finally stepping forward.

Scott nods. ‘It’s possible. Which is why I wanted to ask if either of you recognized it. Is it from one of you?’

He holds out the cuff again. The piece of fabric isn’t special; it’s a strip of white cotton with a faintly scalloped border. Ethan inspects it a little more closely, then shakes his head.

‘You recognize it, Aiden?’ he asks his brother.

Aiden steps forward. Looking over his brother’s shoulder, he studies the cuff, then he too shakes his head.

There’s a bang from inside the house and the brothers whirl around.

‘Is there someone else here I can ask?’ Scott asks. He doesn’t pay attention to the Alphas shaking their heads, tracing the sound with his ears when there’s a second bang. It’s coming from the back of the house.

‘You should go,’ Aiden says coldly, then stalks off in the direction of the sound.

‘I’m sorry we couldn’t help,’ Ethan apologizes, then adds, ‘Say hi to Danny for me.’

‘I will,’ Scott says.

The door closes and Scott follows the path to the gate, in case the Alpha twins are watching him. Then he jumps the fence, not bothering to use the gate. He grabs his pack from where it’s leaning against the fence. He keeps walking until he’s sure he’s out of the two Alphas’ hearing, and punches a tree, hard. His knuckles crack. Pain lances up his arm. Blood stains his knuckles. Then, there’s just a tree with a fist-sized hole. His knuckles have already healed, but the pain cleared his head from the anger that was clouding it.

Scott sits down against the mutilated tree. He wishes Stiles were here. Stiles would’ve been pacing around, spouting half-finished plans to free Isaac, while at the same time reminding Scott that he’s only doing it for him, because he doesn’t even like Isaac. Scott could then fine-tune Stiles’ ramblings until there was a solid plan that wouldn’t get anybody killed or seriously hurt.

‘What would Stiles do?’ Scott asks himself, then snorts. Stiles would just break in, trying to be stealthy, and failing spectacularly, grab Isaac and make a run for it.

Scott sits up. That might actually work. There probably won’t be many, or any, magical security measures around or in the house. It’s the home of two Alphas, it doesn’t get much more secure than that. And they seemed arrogant, so they probably wouldn’t even consider needing extra security.

He’ll have to wait till they’re asleep. Which can’t be long. It’s already full dark, and he was lucky they were awake when he knocked on the door.

Carefully, slowly, Scott makes his way back to the house. He stops when the house is just within earshot. He sits down, slows his breathing, and listens. It takes him some time to tune out all the sounds of the forest, all the animals scurrying home to sleep, those just waking up, and the cacophony of the cicadas. Finally, Scott discerns three heartbeats; two of them  slow and steady, the other beats irregularly and is so light it’s almost inaudible. The two Alphas are definitely asleep, and Isaac, if the third heartbeat is Isaac’s, is not just awake but also scared. Though, as Scott waits, Isaac’s heartbeat evens out a little, probably from relief in the knowledge the Alphas will leave him alone for at least a couple hours.

Scott clenches his jaw in fury and seriously considers leaving wolfsbane in the Alphas’ food, but, unfortunately, there’s no time for that. Once he’s in the house, he won’t have much time before the Alphas wake up.

He vaults over the wall, landing softly on the grass. The dilapidated state of the house and gardens that made him sad earlier, is now a blessing. The tall grass dampens his footsteps, and the symphony of heartbeats from all the little animals who’ve made their home in the wilderness mask his own heartbeat. Walking around the house to the kitchen door, Scott keeps his eyes on the ground and his ears on the Alphas. He pushes down the handle, holding his breath. The door opens without squeaking. Scott blinks into the pitch-black of the kitchen and lets his eyes flash yellow, letting his werewolf vision guide him through the unfamiliar terrain. He expects the inside of the house to resemble the outside, but the air smells clean and from Scott can see, everything is in its proper place. Even the area in front of the fireplace appears to free of soot.

Scott takes a moment to refocus on Isaac’s heartbeat, then follows it to a closet just outside the kitchen. He reaches out and tries the doorknob, turning it as slowly as he can. The door stays shut, and Scott has to suppress the urge to rattle the door, or break it down. His attempt to open the closet door hasn’t gone unnoticed by its occupant. Isaac’s heartbeat spikes, a fluttering stumble, and Scott wishes he could say something to reassure Isaac, but he has to stay as quiet as he can.

The best thing would be if he had the key, but if he can’t find that, a pin to jimmy the lock will do just as well. Scott steps back to look around the kitchen. There are no obvious lock picks in sight, and rooting through the drawers would make too much noise. He’s walking towards the living room when his eyes fall on a key on a string, hanging next to the door to Isaac’s closet. For a moment, Scott wonders why they would just leave the key hanging there, so close to Isaac, before realizing that Isaac probably doesn’t know how close that key is. And even if he does, he can’t reach it with the door closed.

Scott grabs the key off its hook and opens the door.

His heart stops at what he finds.

Isaac is pressed against the far wall, eyes wide, heart beating out of his chest. The smells of fear and blood are almost overpowering in the small space. Scott has to breathe through his mouth to not get distracted by them. He kneels down, blinking his yellow eyes away and making sure he isn’t blocking Isaac’s way out.

‘Isaac,’ Scott whispers. He knows it’s stupid, but he has to calm Isaac down enough to get him out of here. ‘It’s me. Scott.’

The terror fades from Isaac’s eyes, replaced by recognition and wondrous awe. ‘Scott?’ he whispers.

‘I’m getting you out of here. Come on.’

Scott holds out his hand for Isaac, who looks at it in disbelief. For a moment, Scott thinks Isaac won’t take it, that he doesn’t believe this is real, but then Isaac’s hand is in his and Scott pulls him up and out of the closet. Isaac collides into him. Scott stumbles, but quickly rights Isaac as much as he can, leaning Isaac against a wall before closing and locking the closet again, hanging the key on the wall. He supports Isaac on their way out of the house. A falter in one of the twin’s heartbeats makes Scott quicken his pace. He drags Isaac towards the stables. He knows there’s at least one horse. But at the stable doors, Isaac freezes.

‘What’s wrong?’ Scott asks.

‘I can’t go,’ Isaac whispers.

‘Why not?’ Did he miss something? Is there someone else being held captive?

‘I don’t have anywhere to go.’

‘Of course you do. You’re coming with me,’ Scott says, looking Isaac in the eye.

‘I’m just… This is the only home I’ve ever known,’ Isaac says, sounding small. When he looks back at the house, Scott knows he’s not seeing the house as it is now. Isaac must be seeing a happier past.

‘I’ll help you make a new one. I promise.’

Isaac looks down at his hands, and Scott wants to wrap him up in his arms, reassure him, but before he can, Isaac nods sharply and turns to grab the saddle and bridle for the horse.

‘I’ll meet you outside the gate, okay?’ Scott says. He’s making the horse skittish, and if it whinnies, they’re screwed. Plus, he needs to get his backpack from where he stowed it.

Isaac looks at him with uncertainty, like he’s scared of being left behind, left alone, again.

Scott carefully takes Isaac’s hands in his. They’re rough, and Isaac’s nails are torn. Scott presses them gently, then stands on his toes to place a soft kiss on Isaac’s cheek.

‘I have to get my things and it’ll be faster if I get them now and jump on the back of the horse when you come out. We can’t lose any time. They’re waking up,’ Scott says with a nod toward the house.

Isaac pales, but nods, and Scott takes off. He jumps over the fence again then races to where he put his backpack. Running with the backpack thumping against his back is uncomfortable and it slows him down, but he’s still at the gate before Isaac. When he finally sees Isaac approaching, he also hears the Alphas running around in the house, their heartbeats frantic in anger. Scott throws open the gate, it creaks and groans, and there is no doubt the Alphas heard it, but that doesn’t matter anymore. When Isaac is through the gate, Scott swings himself up behind him, wrapping his arms around Isaac’s waist. The horse balks at the extra weight of the werewolf, but Isaac is a good rider and keeps the animal under control.

Scott hears glass breaking, and he winces as he thinks of the mirror at the bottom of his pack. He hopes the pieces are still big enough for Deaton to examine.

At a roar from inside the house, Isaac digs his heels into the horse’s flanks. Scott can just see the fence through the trees when he looks back over his shoulder. There is a giant in the garden. And it has two heartbeats.

‘Oh my god,’ he whispers.

‘I know,’ Isaac grits out.

Scott can’t take his eyes off the merged twins. He grips Isaac tighter when the giant jumps. They’re going to die. The twins are going to crush them. The twins who are now one huge werewolf.

But they don’t die, because the twins can’t get over the fence. Mid-jump, in the middle of the fence, they bounce back, like they’re hitting an invisible wall. The air flashes blue and the twins split, falling back inside the garden as individuals.

‘Mountain ash,’ Scott whispers. The breaking glass wasn’t the mirror in his bag; it was a glass vial of mountain ash, thrown on the ground, closing a circle around the house.

‘My dad put that in place, before…’ Isaac trails off. Scott doesn’t know what happened, how Isaac’s home became his prison, but by the shiver that runs through Isaac’s body, he can tell it wasn’t good.

‘Good thing I was already out of the gate,’ Scott jokes.

Isaac reigns in the horse so suddenly Scott almost slides off. Leaning away from Scott, Isaac turns around to look at him.

‘You’re a werewolf?’ Isaac’s voice is high. His heartbeat is racing.

Scott’s face falls. He hadn’t told Isaac yet, and after how Isaac’s been treated by those Alphas, he probably doesn’t want to have anything to do with Scott. He lets go of Isaac’s waist.

‘Is that a problem?’

‘I… don’t know.’

‘Do you want me to get off the horse? If you fasten my backpack to the saddle, I can easily run beside you.’

Isaac mulls it over, then shakes his head. He clacks his tongue and the horse starts walking again, this time at a far more leisurely pace.

‘I have some clothes hidden further into the forest. We can change into those to hide our scents, then send this girl back home.’ He pats the horse on the neck.

Scott tentatively sets his hands back on Isaac’s waist. Isaac doesn’t stiffen or shrug them off, so Scott lets himself relax. He leans his forehead between Isaac’s shoulder blades. Most of the fear has faded from Isaac’s scent. Scott relaxes even more, until Isaac reaches back to poke him in the side.

‘Don’t fall asleep or you’ll fall off.’

‘Right,’ Scott sits up a little straighter. ‘Wanna hear the story of how me and Stiles defeated a cannibalistic witch?’


	7. What Big Feet

_“A hunter, who was out with his gun, was passing by,_

_and thought to himself, ‘How the old woman snores;_

_I must go see what is the matter.’”_

 

\- Little Red Riding-hood

* * *

 

 

Allison digs her heels into her mare’s flanks, urging Hazel to go faster. She’s been riding for most of the day, but until noon, she’d been taking it easy. She was chasing rumours, and while rumours travelled fast, the truth much slower. She’d taken her lunch at a small inn in a town that consisted of no more than ten houses. Half of those houses were empty, and when Allison heard why, she’d thrown some coins on the table to pay for her meal, run outside, and took off on her horse.

The girl serving her food told Allison there was a beast, like a wolf but not a wolf. It had destroyed the livestock of one of the farms, and killed a farmhand on another. Before the week was out, half the villagers had packed up and left.

Last night was the first night nothing had happened in the little village. The serving girl believed The Beast had moved on, as tales of people being attacked further west had already reached her. That’s how she said it: The Beast, like it was something awe-inspiring, something to be respected and dreaded at the same time.

When Hazel almost stumbles, Allison pulls the reins until they’ve slowed to walking. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to rest for a bit. It won’t do her any good to ride Hazel to her death. Allison jumps out of the saddle to lead the horse on foot, drying the sweat off her horse as they walk.

‘Sorry,’ Allison whispers, patting Hazel’s neck. She’s been driving her pretty hard, not stopping and barely slowing down. She’d wanted to catch up on the day’s head start The Beast had.

When she looks up through the trees, Allison realizes it’s later than she thought, the sky already darkening. Hazel whinnies and turns her head to nudge Allison’s shoulder.

‘Alright,’ Allison laughs, digging in the saddlebags for a carrot. ‘Let’s find somewhere safe and you can have a drink, too. Okay?’

Another soft whinny that Allison takes for agreement.

Allison is about to give up the hunt for the day, not having seen a sign of her quarry, when strange tracks catch her eye. They remind her of canine tracks; impressions of the soft cushions of the feet into the ground, little points of the nails at the tips, but they’re stretched to the size of an adult human’s foot, with five toes instead of four. The front paws also have five toes, or rather claws. The length of the digits and the nails have churned the earth, and all Allison can really discern from them is the faint imprint of the heel of the palm.

Damnit.

Allison quickly ties Hazel to a tree, then adds extra weapons, a dagger and a belt of throwing knives, to the ones already strapped to her body. Wearing trousers was a good decision this morning.

‘Just kick anything that looks scary,’ she whispers to Hazel, who nods in understanding.

Allison hasn’t been following the tracks for very long before they change. The front paws disappear from the ground and the hind paws change shape; the cushions become a single sole and the arch of the foot heightens. A few more steps and the strange animal tracks have become human footprints.

‘Shit. Shit. Shit.’

The tracks lead further on, but it’s getting dark, and soon she won’t be able to see them anymore, or anything that might come at her in the dark. Allison makes her way back to Hazel. She stays as quiet as she can in her frustration, even though she wants to stomp her feet like a toddler. She wanted to do this hunt by herself. People panic when Hunters come in large parties, but if this thing is what she thinks it is… She knows the legends of her family too well to think she can handle this on her own. A monstrous werewolf, a killing machine, nigh unstoppable. Please, let it not be that.

To take her mind off what might be, Allison focuses on what she knows for certain, which is that she’s almost out of food. She left the little village so quickly, she forgot to restock. All she has left is some bread, a couple carrots, and maybe an apple. Her stomach rumbles. Allison rumbles back at it, because if it keeps making so much noise, she won’t be able to hunt for food. She takes out her bow and shoots the first things she sees, a fat rabbit and a squirrel. When she gets back to Hazel, she leads her on a path parallel to the tracks, not wanting to disturb them for when she’ll continue the hunt in the morning.

Allison finds a small clearing, just big enough for a fire and for her to curl up for the night. Hazel whinnies her thanks as Allison lifts the saddle off her and takes out the bridle. She’s less happy when Allison ties her to a tree with a rope, but half of Allison’s apple buys her forgiveness.

When Hazel is taken care of, Allison sets to work on the rest of her little camp, spreading out her blanket, making the fire, positioning the saddle so it’s a perfect pillow. It’s not comfortable, sleeping outside rarely is, but it’s as comfortable as it can get.

It’s when she’s roasting the rabbit that Allison feels something watching her, an itch on the left side of her neck. She pretends she doesn’t notice, but simply continues making her dinner. All her weapons, except for the knife she used to skin the rabbit, are out of reach.

She doesn’t think it’s the monster she’s tracking. That force of destruction is made of chaos and malice; whatever is watching her feels more quiet. And it is very quiet. Allison didn’t know it was there until she felt it watching her. Not a sound of its approach reached her. Which is why she doubts it’s just an ordinary animal

When she sets her teeth in the roasted rabbit, the presence lets out a soft whimper. Allison sets the rabbit down, grabs her knife and turns around, staying low.

‘Come out,’ she tells it.

A large black wolf limps out of the trees. It’s hurt, but the night and the black fur make it hard to be sure where. The wolf looks up and bright red eyes stare straight into Allison’s. An Alpha werewolf.

‘What do you want?’ Allison bites out, tensing her muscles, ready to jump the werewolf at the first sign of an attack.

The wolf doesn’t attack. Instead, it takes a step back, giving itself the space to shift into its human form. The fur retracts into pale skin, nails and fangs shortening until they’re of human length. The wolf’s muzzle flattens and the limbs straighten until a woman is standing in front of Allison.

With the fur no longer hiding the wounds, Allison can see the slashes on the she-wolf’s arms and sides, and the bite mark on her shoulder, very close to her neck. The wounds have started to heal, but Allison can tell that it’s been slow. What could do this to an Alpha? And where is the rest of her pack?

‘I just want to share your fire,’ the she-wolf says. She’s standing tall and proud, despite obviously still being in pain.

‘Where’s the rest of your pack?’ Allison demands, standing up herself.

A look of sadness crosses over the she-wolf’s face. ‘We had to split up.’

Allison nods and makes a decision she hopes she won’t come to regret. She lowers her knife and sits back down, gesturing for the woman to do the same. She picks up her food again, then divides it in two, and offers one half to the wolf. The she-wolf sniffs it lightly then tears off a large chunk. As Allison watches her eat, she realizes she isn’t afraid. She never really was the entire time she was being watched either.

There are a thousand questions Allison wants to ask, but she has a feeling few, if any, of them will be answered.

‘I’m Allison,’ she says.

‘Laura.’ Some of the rabbit falls out of her mouth while she answers, and Allison suppresses a smile. She finds the she-wolf a little endearing.

‘I’ve got an extra set of clothes if you want it.’

‘I don’t want to get any blood on your clothes,’ Laura says hesitantly.

Allison hands Laura her waterskin. ‘I also have bandages.

‘Thank you,’ Laura breathes. She looks surprised and sniffs the water before taking a sip, then gulps down the rest of the water. ‘There’s a stream nearby.’ She gets up and disappears into the forest. It doesn’t take long before she’s back. Most of the dirt and blood have been washed off, and the waterskin is full again.

‘I’ll take first watch,’ Allison says. She gives Laura the bandages, then gestures to her little bed, inviting Laura to sleep there instead of the ground.

‘You afraid I’ll eat you?’ Laura grins. The word “wolfish” pops into Allison’s head, and she bites her lip to keep from laughing.

‘No, but there’s something out there and I’d rather not be surprised by it.’

Laura’s smile drops. When the she-wolf had first made herself known, she hadn’t seemed like much, as wounded and tired as she was. Then, for a moment her playful side had popped up. For the first time that night, Allison can clearly see the Alpha in her: alert, protective, lethal.

‘The tracks are… strange. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen,’ Allison continues. ‘I think there’s something wrong with it. Twisted.’

Laura looks thoughtful for a moment. ‘This wasn’t the direction I was going in. I was going directly north, until I heard the scream. When I found you, I thought it was you, at first, but…’

‘I didn’t scream.’ Allison says. ‘And I didn’t hear any either.’

Laura’s frown deepens. ‘Maybe you should take first watch.’

~

Allison wakes Laura a couple hours after midnight to change shifts. Her own sleep is fitful, full of yelling villagers, glowing red eyes and monsters with different kinds of feet on every leg. When Laura wakes her at dawn, she doesn’t feel very rested.

They clean up their camp, get rid of the remains of the rabbit, scatter the ashes and erase the impressions their feet and bodies have left in the grass and dirt. Allison watches Laura as they work. The wolf seems to be quite good at this, and again Allison wonders what the Alpha might be running from.

When they’re done, Allison shows Laura the strange tracks. ‘What do you think it is?’

The look on Laura’s face is carefully blank and her shoulders are tense, when she says, ‘A werewolf.’

‘How can that be a werewolf?’ Allison knows werewolf tracks, and while there are some similarities, they don’t look anything like this.

‘Sometimes werewolves go… wrong. A feral Omega or Beta is easily dealt with. They can’t shift to wolves anymore, don’t have the focus for it. But an Alpha—‘ Laura clenches her jaw’—an Alpha shows it in their full shift. They get stronger, faster. They’re paranoid, which makes them even more dangerous.’

‘What do you think it wants?’

‘Revenge. I can smell the anger and grief,’ Laura quickly adds when Allison waits for an explanation. Laura leads the way along the same path the feral Alpha did, with Allison following right behind, leading her horse. The thousand questions she had the night before have doubled. She trusts Laura, despite everything she was taught, but she can’t help feeling that Laura knows more than she’s telling.

‘So, you’re going to help me?’ Allison asks, hoping to get Laura talking and find out more.

‘Yes.’

‘Where do you think its pack is?’

‘He doesn’t have a pack.’

Laura barely looks at the ground for the tracks, leading Allison to believe she’s tracking the other Alpha by scent.

‘What will happen when it gets its revenge?’

‘He won’t, because it’s too late.’ Laura quickens her pace, creating a distance between them that Allison can’t seem to close no matter how fast she walks. The subject is closed.

Allison frowns at the woman’s back. She needs to get Laura to tell her what’s going on. Maybe if she approaches things from different angle? Or maybe Laura simply doesn’t trust her, which Allison has to admit is fair.

‘Can I ask what happened to you? I thought Alphas healed faster?’

‘Usually,’ Laura admits. ‘There are some creatures it takes longer with. Like werejaguars.’

‘Kate,’ Allison whispers, coming to a sudden stop. Hazel bumps into her.

Laura turns, crouching low into a defensive stance, eyes flashing red. She backs up slowly. ‘You’re an Argent?’

‘Did you kill her?’

‘Yes.’

Allison nods. A tear traces down her cheek, though she’s not sure if it’s grief or relief. Perhaps it’s both. Grief for the aunt she thought she had, relief that this is finally over. She wipes away the tear and nods.

‘Thank you.’

Laura straightens in surprise.

‘Kate betrayed us, went against everything we stood for by killing an innocent family.’ When she sees the pain flashing across Laura’s face, Allison realizes that it wasn’t just any family. ‘Oh my god, it was your family. You’re Laura Hale.’

Laura nods.

‘Then she turned and killed even more, both humans and mo— creatures. All innocents,’ Allison continues. ‘We tried to catch her, but she knows the way we work. I’m just glad it’s finally over.’

Laura tilts her head, looking at Allison like she’s seeing her for the first time. She opens her mouth to say something, then snaps it shut and swivels her head, staring wide eyed in the direction they were going. Her eyes flash, before she claps her hands over her ears and curls in on herself with a pained look on her face.

‘Laura? What’s wrong?’ Allison jumps to Laura’s side, catching her before she’s on the ground.

Laura takes her hands from her ears and looks at Allison in confusion, her eyes back to normal. If normal is having what looks like the night sky in your eyes.

‘You didn’t hear the scream?’ Laura asks, letting Allison pull her back up.

‘There was no scream.’

‘Yes, there was.’ Laura sets off again. She pushes through the bushes, weeds, and tall grass, tugging at her dress impatiently whenever it gets stuck on a branch. ‘Banshee screams can only be heard by those with magic.’

‘Banshees are real?’ Allison tugs on the reins to get her horse to walk faster.

‘You of all people should know that most things are real,’ Laura points out, raising her eyebrows.

Allison shrugs. Laura is probably right, but if she believed every tale, even she wouldn’t be going outside anymore.

‘We’re going too slow,’ Laura says after a couple more minutes. She unlaces the dress and hands it back to Allison, who flushes at Laura’s unabashed nakedness. Even if it only lasts a moment, because Laura shifts into her wolf and starts running. Allison swings herself up in the saddle and chases her.

Laura runs ahead with her nose close to the ground. Sometimes she runs ahead, then runs back to growl impatiently at Allison, making Hazel skittish. Allison wishes she could move faster, but it’s hard to see the ground and crippling her horse would slow them even more.

Finally, they reach the edge of the forest. Laura shifts back, and Allison quickly hands the woman her cloak. When Allison joins Laura on the ground, she doesn’t see anything special at first. There is a slight rise of the ground beyond the trees, which results in something that is almost a hill. At the top, a small house has been built. There’s a well and a garden that Allison assumes is for vegetables. The branches of a fruit tree are just visible from behind the house. It looks a little lonely, but otherwise completely ordinary.

‘There are two people in there,’ Laura says. ‘One of them, their heart is racing.’

Fear, Allison thinks. Someone in that house is terrified. ‘The other?’

‘Irregular, but calm. That would be the Alpha.’

‘What now?’

‘You’re asking me?’ Laura turns to her, looking stunned. ‘I didn’t think Hunters took suggestions from werewolves.’

‘You seem to have a better idea of what we’ll be facing,’ Allison shrugs.

‘We wait until dark. His enhancements give him an advantage over us, but in the dark we might level the playing field a little.’

It’s still early in the day, before noon, so they settle in for the long wait. Laura lays out a quick and simple plan. She’ll confront the Alpha, challenge him Alpha to Alpha. Allison wants to protest, not all of Laura’s wounds have healed, but the look on Laura’s face tells her it won’t be any use. With the Alpha distracted, Allison will go in and get the prisoner out.

‘What if it kills them before nightfall?’

‘I’ll listen.’

And that’s what Laura does. She sits there, eyes closed, a small frown between her brows. Allison imagines she can see Laura’s ears twitch every once in awhile.

Allison uses the time to check her weapons. Laura glares at her when she sets a whetstone to one of her knives, and Allison quickly puts it away again. It doesn’t take long to get armed and ready for the rescue mission, so Allison spends the rest of the time watching Laura.

When twilight finally starts to fall, Allison wraps Hazel’s hooves in cloth to dampen the sound.

When the last rays of the sun disappear, Laura stands up and silently hands Allison back her cloak.

Allison slides a dagger out of the sheath on her thigh and gets ready to run. She doesn’t look at Laura when the woman starts to shift. Watching that process is a little unnerving. She sets a foot out of the treeline when Laura grabs her shoulder and pulls her back. Allison turns to her in question, startling back when she sees Laura’s face. She’s never seen a half-shift up-close. She was taught that werewolves are monsters, horrible, barely human, but from this close she can see that Laura is not inhuman, she’s unearthly.

‘Look.’ Laura points in the direction of the house. A small figure is running towards them, cloak and skirts billowing behind her. It’s not likely to be the Alpha, but whoever it is, is running directly at them.

Allison tightens her grip on her dagger. The figure is only a hundred feet away. Fifty feet. Ten.

Laura grabs the woman as she steps into the woods and pushes her against the tree. The hand she clapped over the woman’s mouth to silence her scream, is instantly pulled back with a hiss when the woman bites down.

In the gloom, Allison can barely make out the woman’s features, but the long hair, the bright red cloak, and the defiant stance, she instantly recognizes.

‘Lydia?’ she whispers. The person in the house wasn’t scared, Allison realizes. Lydia was angry. She almost pities the feral Alpha.

‘You know her?’ Laura asks, her features shifting back to human.

‘Yeah. It’s not just werewolves that don’t like the Argent name. I get run out of villages a lot. Lydia’s helped me more than once,’ Allison explains. Though helping might be an understatement. Lydia’s given her clothes, food, and once even a safe place to recover from an injury.

Allison’s trust appears to be enough for Laura, who nods and steps away from Lydia.

Lydia brushes her hands down her skirt, something Allison has learned means impatience. The woman throws Allison a smile, then looks Laura up and down critically, lips pursed and eyebrows raised.

‘Why are you naked?’ Lydia asks.

For the first time, Laura appears to be self-conscious about her nudity, and crosses her arms over her chest. Allison grabs her cloak and throws it over Laura’s shoulders in support. Not many are unaffected by Lydia’s scrutinizing gaze.

‘Werewolf,’ Laura explains.

‘And werewolves never wear clothes?’ Lydia raises her eyebrow. ‘Strange, because the one in there does. More or less.’

‘I was about to shift,’ Laura defends herself, pulling the cloak tightly around herself. ‘We were going to get you out.’

‘I’m already out.’

Allison is sure that if she had werewolf hearing, she’d be able to hear Laura’s teeth grind together.

‘But he’s still in there?’ Laura asks, glancing past Lydia at the little house.

‘Yes, he is,’ Lydia bites out. She turns around to look at the house. Her posture is stiff and her hands are shaking. ‘He killed my grandmother.’

‘The scream yesterday afternoon,’ Laura states.

Lydia nods. ‘I had a dream the night before. My mom wouldn’t believe me, but I couldn’t shake that feeling. I was too late. He killed her, just as I was walking up to the house.’

Allison grabs Lydia’s hand, squeezes it. Lydia holds on tightly as she tells what happened next. She ran into the house, finding something between a wolf and a man standing over her grandmother, whose throat was ripped out. The beast had thrown her against the wall and she’d lost consciousness. When she came to, she was tied up. The beast was gone, but there was a man sitting in her grandmother’s chair. His clothes were tattered, and there was dried blood on his hands and chin. All he told her was that Lydia was going to bring back someone for him. If Lydia didn’t help him, she would end up like her grandmother. Lydia hadn’t fallen asleep until later that morning, when exhaustion had taken over. She’d woken up screaming from a nightmare filled with fire and blood. Allison guesses that’s the scream Laura heard that morning.

‘I have to go in,’ Laura says. Even in the gloom, Allison can see how much paler she’s gotten during Lydia’s story.

‘Are you insane?’ Allison hisses, grabbing Laura’s arm to stop. ‘You said yourself that he would be stronger than a regular Alpha. Without your pack here, you’ll never be able to take him.’

‘So help me,’ Laura pleads. She looks desperately from Allison to Lydia.

‘I’ll help,’ Lydia says, anger and determination lacing her voice.

‘Who is he? Tell me that, and I’ll help,’ Allison says, stepping between Laura and Lydia so she can look Laura in the eye. ‘I know you know him.’

‘My uncle,’ Laura admits. ‘He’s my uncle.’

‘Seriously?’ Lydia mutters.

Laura rounds on her, eyes flashing. ‘He wasn’t always like this. Peter wasn’t bad. He wasn’t exactly a nice guy, but he was good. His goodness was something that needed a strong foundation, an anchor.’

‘The fire,’ Allison says. Kate’s destruction appears to have its aftershocks.

‘What fire?’ Lydia asks.

‘Most of my pack died in a fire. Just me, my brother and my little sister survived. My mom, our Alpha, she died too, and leadership passed on to me. We thought Peter had died, too. We found him. We buried him. His heart—‘Laura’s breath stops in her throat and she presses the heels of her hands against her eyes to stop the tears’—it wasn’t beating. We were sure…’

Allison can only watch as guilt wracks through Laura. To have lost so much, and then to lose something twice, just when you find it.

‘What are you planning to do with him?’ Lydia asks.

‘There’s only thing that can be done. Give him peace,’ Laura shrugs.

‘He can’t be cured?’

‘After so many kills…’ Laura shakes her head. ‘Your grandmother wasn’t the first. He’s killed at least one Alpha, and that Alpha’s pack, too.’

‘But you can’t fight him.’ Allison paces around in small circles, thinking. Hunter training is more than just learning how to stab. It’s also learning how to trap, how to trick. ‘There is a river nearby, right?’

Both Laura and Lydia nod.

‘Okay, here’s the plan.’

~

‘I don’t like this plan,’ Laura mutters under her breath for the tenth time.

‘I know, but we don’t have a better one,’ Allison retorts, again.

‘I know, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.’

‘You don’t have to like it for it to work.’

Laura huffs, and Allison bites her lip to keep from laughing, completely at ease crouching here, the werewolf pressed to her side. She wonders what will happen after this; if they’ll go their separate ways or if they’ll stay together. Somehow.

Laura jams her elbow into Allison’s side, pulling Allison’s attention back to what is happening. She can just make out Lydia, who is on the other side of the river, a dark silhouette in the dark night. The river isn’t very wide, but it’s deep, and, according to Lydia, has treacherous undercurrents. Lydia’s head is thrown back, and from the way Laura’s hands are now clapped over her ears, Allison assumes she’s screaming.

She knows the Argent bestiary by heart, but in the last hour, she’s learned more about banshees than her family has managed in almost a hundred years. Lydia lowers her head, then runs for the river. She’s barely halfway when the door to the house is thrown open and a large figure appears in it. The Alpha’s howl is something Allison hears very clearly. She feels Laura shudder next to her.

‘I can do it, if you want me to,’ Allison whispers.

Laura shakes her head. ‘It has to be me. He was pack. My pack. I owe it to him’

Allison lets it rest. She needs to focus on Lydia for now.

Lydia’s cloak flutters behind her as she runs, her skirts gathered in her arms. Allison crouches next to the cut down tree serving as a bridge across the river, setting her hand against the wood, planting her feet firmly in the ground. Lydia nimbly runs across it, jumps off, and crouches next to Allison. Together they push. Peter howls again. He jumps onto the tree, his red eyes on the two of them.

They grunt as they push the edge of the tree trunk off the riverbank, into the water. Just in time.

With a yelp, Peter goes under. Laura howls in answer, then starts running alongside the river, following Peter. Allison leads Lydia to her horse and helps her up. They follow the wolves to where the river shallows. It’s still fast, and the rocks are slippery, but Laura still manages to pull her uncle to land.

Peter is lying unconscious on the shore, shifted back to human. He’s not naked like Laura. Tattered trousers hang off his hips, just as Lydia had described. Laura is bent over him, her arms wrapped around herself. Allison slides off her horse, then hesitates.

From where she’s standing, she can see Peter’s eyes blink open.

‘Laura?’ he rasps. There is surprise, and something close to happiness in his voice. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I’m here to give you peace.’

Peter’s eyes widen in realization, then he notices Lydia. ‘Wait! We can get them back. She can get them back.’

‘They’re gone, Peter.’

‘I came back.’

‘No. You didn’t.’ Laura pulls back her hand, her claws shoot out and with one swift swipe, she tears out Peter’s throat. She throws back her head and howls.

Allison grabs Lydia’s hand and squeezes tightly as the pain in Laura’s howl tears her heart to pieces. She looks to her side to see tears swimming in Lydia’s eyes.

Laura’s howl ends abruptly, turning into a sob. They approach her slowly. Laura’s shoulders are shaking, her bloody hand balled into a fist. They help her up and lead her to the river to clean up. When all the blood is washed off, they help her into Allison’s spare clothes.

‘I want to go home,’ Laura says, sounding drained. ‘I want my pack.’

Lydia links her elbow with Laura’s, while Allison brushes the hair from Laura’s face and gives her an encouraging smile. ‘Then we’d better get going.’


	8. Down the Rabbit Hole

_ “‘Now, Dinah, tell me the truth: did you ever eat a bat?’ _

_ when suddenly,  _ thump! thump! thump!

_ down she came upon a heap of dry leaves,  _

_ and the fall was over.” _

 

\-  _ Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland _ , Lewis Carroll

* * *

 

Derek has seen a lot of weird things. It comes with being a werewolf. He also knows the things he sees will get stranger, the older he gets, but he never expected to see this.

A guy just popped up, straight out of the ground. Derek had heard the rumble of the ground opening up, and rushed to see what was happening. He waited behind a tree to see what would happen, expecting a huge rabbit, or a mole, to come out of the hole that led straight down. Then, the guy was flung out. The hole closed up again with a soft rumble, and the guy landed right where the hole had been only a moment before, landing gently on his butt. And he stayed sitting there, singing to himself.

Derek can’t do anything but stare, his brain desperately trying to make sense of the fact that a person was just flung out of a giant rabbit hole.

‘Twinkle, twinkle, little bat! How I wonder what you’re at! Up above the world you fly! Like a tea-tray in the sky!’ The guy’s voice turns to a mutter of repeated: ‘Twinkle, twinkle, twinkle!’

Derek approaches slowly, scenting the air. There’s a heavy smell of burned sugar and magic around the guy, but no hint of blood. As Derek gets closer, he can make out the man’s own scent underneath the heavy scent layered on top of it, and the man’s features, which are all very familiar.

‘Stiles?’ Derek asks, confused.

Stiles doesn’t look up, keeping up his litany of twinkles.

Derek sniffs the air again. The fact that there’s the scent of magic hanging around Stiles isn’t strange, but Stiles’ magic smells lighter, like freshly baked pancakes and cinnamon. This other magic smells rotten, like spoiled meat. He stops right in front of Stiles, then crouches down. The smell of burned sugar seems to come off Stiles’ clothes. There are bits of cookies and candy in his hair, like Stiles was close to an exploding confectionary shop—Derek wouldn’t be surprised by if that’s exactly what happened. The smells of the sugar, the dark magic, and Stiles’ lighter magic combined are confusing and disorienting. Derek keeps trying to dig through the unfamiliar scents to get to Stiles’ own scents.

The singing abruptly stops, and Derek is confronted by Stiles’ bright golden eyes, and a smile that is just a little too wide. He can see himself reflected in those eyes, frozen in shock.

‘Who are you?’ Stiles asks, the smile turning into a grin. It has an edge Derek knows doesn’t belong to Stiles.

‘I’m Derek,’ he answers, his voice shaking. Something is very wrong with Stiles. That smell of dark magic must be a curse.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes.’

‘Hmm.’ Stiles looks him over once or twice, then stands up. He reaches his hand up, like he wants to catch the brim of a hat or cap, and his face goes pale. ‘Where’s my hat? How am I supposed to greet you without a hat? It would be terribly rude.’

‘It’s fine. You can greet me without a hat,’ Derek assures him. He can’t remember Stiles ever wearing a hat, and files it away as a part of the curse.

Stiles shakes his head in disagreement so vehemently that something falls out from under the collar of his jacket. Stiles catches it and the too wide grin comes back to his face.

‘Cake! If only we had some tea and butter.’ He looks at Derek hopefully, but Derek has to shake his head. ‘Even so, no sense in letting cake spoil,’ Stiles shrugs and stuffs the entire piece in his mouth, cheeks bulging.

‘What happened?’ Derek asks.

‘That’s a very personal question to ask someone whose name you don’t even know, and I can’t give you my name, because I don’t have a hat.’

‘I do know your name. You’re Stiles.’

Stiles snorts. ‘That’s not a name. That’s a kind of ladder.’

‘I—‘ Derek isn’t sure what to say, because Stiles is right, “Stiles” isn’t his name, it’s a nickname. Derek doesn’t know what Stiles’ real name is. ‘How about I give you a name? Just until we find you a hat and you can give me your real one?’ he asks instead

‘Alright,’ Stiles agrees after a moment of thinking it over.

‘How about Brian?’

Stiles pulls a face.

‘Scott?’ Derek opts, hoping it will spark some kind of recognition. He briefly closes his eyes in relief when he sees that it does.

The recognition flashes over Stiles’ face like lightning in a clear blue sky. It’s there, then gone, leaving no sign it was there at all. Stiles shakes his head. ‘Scotts are nicer than me. How about Derek?’

‘I’m Derek.’

‘Yes, that would get awkward.’

‘I’m just going to call you Cake Boy.’

‘Hey! I am not a boy.’

Then, without warning, Stiles turns around and starts walking. Derek runs after him. Even though Stiles isn’t exactly himself at the moment, he’s just as frustrating as ever.

‘Where are you going?’ Derek asks when he catches up.

‘I don’t know, but if I keep going, I’ll be sure to be going somewhere.’ Stiles sounds far too cheerful for someone whose plan could get them killed.

‘How about you go with me?’ Derek asks in what he hopes is a persuasive voice.

‘You know where you’re going?’

‘Yes.’

‘Alright.’

Stiles looks at him with expectant eyes, and Derek starts in the direction of Stiles’ village. It’s not that far out of the way. He’ll still make it back in time to meet up with Laura and Cora if— Derek takes in a sharp breath and cuts off that thought. They made it. They’re going to be there, and be annoyed he’s the last one and made them wait.

He and Stiles don’t make conversation as they walk. There is plenty of talking, though. Stiles keeps muttering phrases under his breath as they go. Derek listens closely at first, hoping for a clue about the curse, but he soon realizes it’s just nonsense, rhymes that don’t make any sense.

It was already late when Stiles popped out of the ground, and now the sun has almost entirely set. Derek starts looking for a place to sleep. Normally he’d shift and curl up in the shelter of a tree or a small cave as a wolf, but he can’t do that now Stiles is with him. And with Stiles not remembering him, shifting into a full wolf could scare Stiles badly enough that he’ll try to run. Or he might stop trusting Derek, and Derek won’t be able to help him to safety.

‘Hey, Derek?’ Stiles starts, staring at the last rays of the sun peeking through the leaves of the trees. ‘Why is a raven like a writing desk?’

‘What?’ Derek sighs and rubs a hand over his face. He turns to Stiles, surprised by  the serious look he finds on Stiles’ face, eyebrows scrunched together and mouth tight.

The last rays of the sun fade and a shadow passes over Stiles’ face. He blinks and looks around him in confusion. When his eyes land on Derek, he startles back.

‘Derek?’

Derek blinks in surprise. It’s like Stiles has been mispronouncing his name all day, and now he finally gets it right. That is not the only thing that has changed, Stiles’ entire posture is different, less jovial, more like the coiled spring he usually reminds Derek of.

‘Where are we? Where’s Scott?’ Stiles asks, looking around.

Derek hears Stiles’ heart start to race in anxiety. He quickly grabs Stiles’ hands and forces him to look him in the eye. Stiles calms down a little, not entirely, but enough that Derek knows Stiles will actually hear what he’s going to say.

‘I don’t know where Scott is, he didn’t come with you. And, well, you popped out of a hole in the ground.’

‘What?’

Derek sits down on the ground, pulling Stiles down next to him, and tells him what happened, about the rabbit hole, the cake, the memory loss, the rhymes and the singing. In return, Stiles tells Derek about what happened with him and Scott.

‘Does this mean the curse is broken now? I mean, you’re normal again. Normal for you anyway,’ Derek adds with a smirk.

‘Ha ha, mister funny pants,’ Stiles huffs, cuffing him lightly on the shoulder. ‘I don’t think the curse is over, though. It’s a mirror curse, and those are tricky. I’m pretty sure this one didn’t take properly, because the witch died before she could enact it fully.’

‘Okay, what do you know about mirror curses?’

‘Not much,’ Stiles admits. ‘It’s not like curses are a priority in my training. But mirrors need an image.’

Derek stays quiet and lets Stiles’ brain think things through.

‘They need light. Which is why it doesn’t work right now. We’re in a forest after sundown, not much light going around here.’

‘So how do we break it? Keep you in a dark room for the rest of your life?’

‘Let’s not do that.’ Stiles sighs and leans into Derek. The events of the day have taken their toll. ‘Did I say anything?’ Stiles asks around a yawn.

‘You said a lot of things. I don’t think you ever stopped talking,’ Derek snorts. ‘Right before sundown you said something. You looked really concerned by it: Why is a raven like a writing desk?’

‘A riddle?’ Stiles brightens up a little. ‘I’m good at those. The answer might be the counter spell, or it could be instructions on how to break the curse.’

‘You know the answer?’ Derek asks hopeful.

Stiles shakes his head sadly. ‘Not yet.’

Derek gives Stiles’ arm a squeeze, then their stomachs rumble in unison.

‘I’ll go find something to eat. You think you can get a fire going?’ Derek asks, standing up.

‘I think I can manage that.’

When Derek comes back with a squirrel, berries and some roots, there’s a small cheery fire waiting for him. Neither of them carry a knife, so Derek skins and guts the squirrel, then cuts up the roots as best he can with his claws. Stiles sits lost in thought, staring at the dancing of the flames. Derek’s never seen Stiles so quiet, a permanent frown on his brow, and even though he’s sitting right next to him, it’s like Stiles is a million miles away. It’s unsettling. Unable to resist the urge, Derek shuffles closer until their sides are pressed together, and Stiles leans into him seemingly without a moment’s thought.

Eating seems to cheer Stiles up a little, makes him a little more present. He still doesn’t talk much, though, and Derek fills the silence by telling Stiles what happened to his family, and why he’s here now. The expletives Stiles uses to describe Kate make Derek blush and laugh at the same time.

They sleep curled together, Stiles safely wrapped up in Derek’s arms, his head against Derek’s chest. Despite the circumstances, Derek feels something inside of him settle. He’s missed Stiles. When they had to run again, he and Stiles were on the verge of something and Derek hopes they can pick things up again if he can help get rid of the curse. If Laura beat Kate, killed Kate, and they can finally settle. If Stiles still wants to.

Derek eventually falls asleep to the rhythm of Stiles’ even breaths and steady heartbeat.

~

Derek is woken up by Stiles shaking his shoulder and calling out his name. When Derek blinks open his eyes, the sky is already light blue and the first rays of sun are trying to get through the leaves.

‘Finally,’ Stiles breathes in relief. ‘I know the answer.’

‘What?’ Derek asks, his brain not entirely awake yet.

‘It’s—‘

Stiles’ eyes glaze over, twinkling like light hitting a thousand pieces of tiny shards of glass. And Derek realizes what Stiles was trying to tell him.

‘Stiles? What’s the answer?’ Derek urges him. Please, don’t let it be too late.

‘What’s a Stiles?’

Stiles smiles at him quizzically and Derek feels ice runs through his veins. He was too late. Why didn’t he wake up sooner? Why did he go to sleep at all?

‘You. You’re Stiles,’ he says gently.

‘We’ve been over this. Stiles is not a name. I’m Cake Boy. Remember?’ Stiles smirks at him. ‘Will there be tea with breakfast?’

Derek leads Stiles through the forest like he did the day before, silent, not responding to the nonsense Stiles mutters under his breath or sings at the top of lungs. But unlike the day before, Derek now knows there will be an end to it. Eager for the sun to set, the day seems to go on forever.

He tries to make Stiles eat and drink, but it’s almost impossible. The talking seems more urgent than the day before, an incessant waterfall of gibberish. Mid-afternoon, Stiles’ voice starts getting hoarse. Again, Derek tries to make him drink some water, but Stiles can’t stop talking long enough to swallow much of it.

Like the day before, right before the last rays of the sun disappear, Stiles’ voice gets more urgent.

‘Why is a raven like a writing desk?’

Derek turns to Stiles, holding his breath and waiting. Stiles’ expression is tight for a moment, then, just like yesterday, a shadow passes over it, Stiles’ eyes dim to normal, and his face relaxes. Then Stiles immediately has a coughing fit.

‘Water,’ Stiles manages to get out.

Derek leads him to a nearby stream and helps Stiles swallow a few mouthfuls.

‘Shit, my throat hurts,’ Stiles grumbles. Then he turns to Derek with a grin, slapping him on the chest, and says, ‘Because they can produce a few notes, though they are very flat.’

‘What?’

‘It’s the answer to the riddle,’ Stiles explains impatiently.

‘Okay. Do you feel any different? I mean, we should know when the curse has lifted, right?’

Stiles closes his eyes. ‘Nope. Maybe if you say it?’

Derek repeats the words, keeping his eyes on Stiles. Again, Stiles shakes his head.

‘The curse isn’t active now, though,’ Derek muses. ‘Maybe it only works during daylight.’

‘Yeah, that’s possible. Or it could be that it has to be given directly as an answer to the riddle, like, right when I ask it?’

‘What if it’s neither? What if they’re not the counter words, but instructions?’ Derek can’t help asking.

‘Let’s hope not,’ Stiles sighs, rubbing his throat. ‘I don’t think I can do many more days with nothing but talking.’

~

The next day, they do things a little differently. They make sure Stiles drinks plenty of water and they eat enough, so they won’t have to eat during the day, before the sun hits Stiles’ eyes and activates the curse again. Tensely, they wait for the sunrise, gripping each other’s hands tightly.

Just before the sun peeks through the leaves, Stiles turns to Derek. His eyes scan Derek’s face, then he leans in, pressing his lips against Derek’s. It’s a bittersweet kiss, the moment is wrong, and they can’t make it last as long as they wish, but Derek’s heart stumbles nonetheless, and he can’t help thinking: Finally.

When Stiles pulls back, he’s smiling softly and fondly. Derek’s hand has somehow found its way to Stiles’ cheek, his thumb softly caressing Stiles’ cheekbone. He sees the sun hit Stiles’ eyes, watches Stiles’ eyes glaze over, then immediately blurts out the answer, ‘They can produce a few notes, though they are very flat.’

Stiles blinks at him in surprise, then a peal of high-pitched laughter escapes him. Derek’s hand slips from Stiles’ face, and falls limply into his lap.

‘Well, that is an odd way to greet someone,’ Stiles giggles, then gets up and starts walking in the wrong direction.

Derek quickly grabs Stiles’ arm to set him on the right path. The rest of the day goes the same as the two before. Stiles talks, while Derek leads him silently through the forest. By noon, they’ve cleared the trees and have no choice but to walk along the road. People give them strange looks; some even give them a wide berth, but Derek doesn’t let it bother him. Only a couple more hours.

Sunset is almost upon them, and Derek leads Stiles off the road, into a field. It takes longer than the previous evenings for the sun to completely disappear, without the trees shielding them from the light, but finally, Stiles turns to Derek and asks, ‘Why is a raven like a writing desk?’

‘Because they can produce a few notes, though they are very flat,’ Derek answers him, heart beating wildly with hope.

Stiles blinks rapidly, until a shard of glass falls out of each of his eyes. When they hit the ground, they shatter into dust.


	9. Kiss of LIfe

_“[...]but no sooner had the comb touched the roots of her hair_

_than the poison took effect,_

_and the maiden fell to the ground lifeless.”_

 

\- Snow-white and the Seven Dwarfs

* * *

 

 

Cora’s been walking through the forest for almost three days now, trying to get back to the house. After Laura gave the order to run, Cora and Derek had run together for a little while before splitting up. Cora ran into the mountains while Derek went west, deeper into the forest. She lost her pack of clothes on the first evening. The rope Laura had used had gotten snagged on a sharp rock, and when Cora tried to pull it loose, the rope snapped and it and her clothes tumbled into a ravine. She’d roamed through the mountains for a couple days, before deciding to make her way back.

Cora knows she’s almost home, but it’s like the woods keep changing around her; whenever she turns around to backtrack, her scent and footsteps have disappeared. Whenever she thinks she recognizes a place, it feels slightly wrong, like if you came home and someone moved everything just an inch to the left. She knows someone is doing this to her, that they’re leading her somewhere, but she can’t do anything to escape it. She can’t even step off the path that’s being created for her. Every time she tries, she finds herself back on it, with nausea and a headache as extras.

This morning, Cora decided to stop fighting the magic. Even if she is walking into a trap, she’ll at least get the chance to take a bite out of whoever is doing this to her. She can still feel the forest, can feel reality bending as she’s being let to her destination, but now that she’s stopped fighting it, the nausea and headaches don’t make reappearances. Not that a headache would be a problem for long if something is going to chop her head off.

At sunset, Cora comes upon the last thing she ever expected to find here: a desert, made up of reddish brown sand and stones that look like they were transported from another place, then dropped in the middle of the forest. From where she’s standing, Cora can see the forest continuing on the other side.

Carefully, Cora sets a paw on the sand, still warm from the sun. It feels pleasant under her foot pads after walking on rocks and moist dirt for close to a week. She walks a couple steps into the desert to enjoy the open air. There are already some stars visible in the darkening sky.

Then the sand in front of her shifts, flowing into a hole opening up only a few feet in front of her. First one hand appears, then another, and another. Then, six hands claw at the ground, trying to find a grip on the loose sands.

Cora’s first instinct is to fight, the second to help, the third, and probably the smartest, is to run. She listens to none of them. She stays where she is, just inside the desert, the forest right at her back. After a minute, three people stand before her, dressed in animal skins, faces painted with white mud and black ashes, carrying old but deadly looking weapons.

‘What are you doing here, she-wolf?’ the first asks. Their voice is strange, like there is more than one person talking through their mouth.

‘This is our land,’ the second says. Their voice sounds the same as the first.

‘You have no business here,’ the third adds.

The three smell like shapeshifters, but stronger, like they have more than two, or even three shapes. And they smell old; not like old people, but like an old house. Cora can smell the history on them. Skinwalkers.

Cora tries to step back into the safety of the forest, but her paws won’t lift from the desert floor. So instead, she steps forward, growling at the shapeshifters in warning. None of them seem perturbed by it, more amused. They know Cora can’t hurt them. Cora feigns left, then jumps right, but the skinwalker on the far right drops their spear in warning, the sharp point inches from Cora’s flank. They seem to have reached an impasse; the three figures are barring Cora’s way forward, but Cora isn’t able to leave the desert either.

The crackling of lightning and a sudden heat at her back, makes Cora turn. She’s not sure what she expects, but it’s not a six foot tall, fiery fox, standing on its hind legs. The fox’s tail swishes and its ears twitch as it regards Cora. Oddly enough, Cora doesn’t feel threatened by it as she looks it right in the eye.

Cora looks back at the skinwalkers to see their reaction to the fox, and finds them no longer barring her way.

‘The kitsune has led you here.’

‘She’s chosen you.’

‘You are her champion.’

Cora sighs. She hasn’t shifted back to human since Laura told her to run, figuring that running through the forest as wolf was easier than naked as a human, and shifting is always more painful after not having been human for a couple days. She doesn’t have a choice, though, because she has some questions for the skinwalkers that she’d really like answered.

She sets her jaw as her bones and muscles rearrange themselves, and fur retreats back into her skin. When she’s human again, she takes a moment to catch her breath, fingers digging into the sand, her long hair momentarily shielding her face. Then she staggers upright.

‘What the hell is a kitsune?’ Cora asks.

The skinwalkers turn their backs on her and walk further into the desert. They don’t say anything, but Cora can sense they expect her to follow. When she doesn’t, something warm nudges her shoulder. Cora turns her head to find the fox staring her down. Again, there doesn’t seem to be any choice for her but to go where she’s being led.

The skinwalkers lead her to a plateau near the centre of their desert. The flowers catch Cora’s eye first, small and purple. She stumbles back, thinking it’s wolfsbane, before seeing the white and light grey flowers next to the purple ones, and noticing the thimble-shapes the petals form. Relieved she’s not about to inhale her death, Cora steps forward again, this time noticing the glass coffin. If the flowers were out of place in the middle of this desert, the coffin is even more so. Its lid and the bottom each appear to be made from a single piece of glass, a fine, almost invisible line where they meet. The glass is clear, but doesn’t reflect the sunlight, and Cora can easily see through it at what lies inside. There’s a girl, young, with raven hair, pale skin, and soft, red lips.

‘Who is she?’ Cora asks, a finger tracing the contours of the girl’s face on the glass.

‘Her name is Kira.’

‘What’s wrong with her?’ It’s hard to look away from the girl. She’s beautiful, almost entrancing.

‘She’s the kitsune.’

‘A fox spirit lives inside her.’

‘But she can’t control it and it wouldn’t let her join us.’

‘Wouldn’t let us train her.’

‘So we had to put her to sleep.’

‘To protect her.’

‘And everyone else.’

‘What did you mean by me being her champion?’ Cora asks, finally managing to look away from the girl and back at the skinwalkers.

‘She can’t control the fox.’

‘She needs someone who can teach her.’

‘And she chose you.’

‘Or maybe the fox did.’

‘They’re tricky, foxes,’ one of the skinwalkers says darkly. ‘Be careful.’

With that, the skinwalkers disappear into the sands again, and it’s just Cora, the burning fox at her side, and the girl in the coffin. She has no idea what’s going to happen next. At this point, she wouldn’t be surprised if leprechauns marched out of the little flowers by the coffin and started singing.

With a soft scraping sound, the lid of the coffin begins to slide off on its own. Cora expects it to shatter when it falls to the ground, but there is just a soft thump. The warm presence of the fox at Cora’s side disappears just when Kira opens her eyes, her irises glowing the same warm orange as the fox. Cora’s own eyes react instantly, turning bright yellow. Cora takes a step back. The hard expression on Kira’s face doesn’t suit her.

‘Thank you for coming,’ Kira says, sitting up. Like with the skinwalkers, Kira’s voice is one layered on top of another. Although with Kira, there is something familiar about the way it sounds. Cora can hear how the girl’s own voice is mixed with the growl of an angry animal. It reminds Cora of how Derek sounds when he’s annoyed with her.

‘I didn’t really have a choice,’ Cora shoots back.

‘Hmm,’ the fox hums, almost disinterested.

The fox lifts herself out of the coffin and sets her feet on the ground, smiling when she hears the sand crunch under her boots. She’s wearing a simple, white, sleeveless dress with long slits up to her hips that give her room to move and sturdy leather boots, and her hair is pulled back in a braid. A leather strap crosses over Kira’s chest, tying something to her back. It’s not until it’s already in Kira’s hands that Cora realizes it’s a sword.

‘I thought I was your champion?’ Cora asks, taking a step back. She very aware of how much of a disadvantage she is at. She’s naked, with no weapons and nowhere to run.

‘You are not my champion,’ the fox says, twirling the sword in her hand. ‘You’re hers.’

Cora thinks she understands what’s happened to Kira. It happens with werewolves too, sometimes. When someone sees their wolf as a separate being, that’s what they’ll become: separate. Werewolves often go feral, unable to control the wolf’s instincts. With Kira, something similar must be happening. She’s not working in tandem with the fox spirit inside of her, so the spirit has separated itself from her, and Kira doesn’t know how to make it her own again. She needs Cora to teach her.

Cora takes another step back, then dives to avoid the slash of the sword. Desperately wishing she could shift as fast as Laura, she rolls to pop up behind Kira. Since she can’t, a half-shift will have to do. The fox smirks when she sees Cora’s fangs and claws extend, and lets her fiery form show again. This time, it forms itself around Kira’s body like armour. Cora slashes at the fox. Her fingers feel almost painfully warm as she makes contact with the fire, but not much else happens.

The fox laughs, the sound more animalistic than before. ‘You can’t fight fire with claws, little wolf, and no wolf can outsmart a fox.’

‘We’ll see about that,’ Cora says, feigning right, then jumping straight at the fox.

The fox easily sidesteps the attack.

‘Only the skinwalkers have outsmarted me. It took all three of them, and they’re a hundred times my age,’ the fox brags, bringing her sword down again. The blade hits the sand where Cora had been only a moment ago.

‘Really? What did they do?’

‘Thinking of replicating it?’ the fox chuckles, and swings her weapon again.

Cora just manages to hit the fox’s wrist, diverting the sword from its path toward her shoulder. It’s a miracle she hasn’t been cut to ribbons yet. For someone who’s been in a glass box for who knows how long, the fox is very fast and nimble. When she looks at the fox, she can see a flicker of relief on Kira’s face. Kira’s fighting too, now, Cora realizes.

‘You can’t,’ the fox continues.

‘So why not tell me?’ Cora eggs her on. She needs to give Kira a chance to get the upper hand.

‘I suppose there is no harm. They gave her an apple.’ The sword slashes just past Cora’s belly. ‘It was laced with wolf lichen.’

Cora tries to land a kick against the fox’s legs, but the fox hits Cora’s butt with the flat of the sword, throwing her off balance.

‘The girl ate it willingly. We both passed out.’

Cora leans back to avoid a furious slash at her throat.

‘I came to after only a few days, but the girl stayed unconscious, trapping me here in this infernal desert.’

‘So it wasn’t just the skinwalkers. You got tricked by yourself,’ Cora laughs.

The fox looks unsettled as it thinks through Cora’s statement. Cora lets out her loudest roar. She’s not an Alpha; she can’t force the fox to retreat further inside of Kira, make her a kitsune again, but she can give a little push, hoping to give Kira what she needs to pull the fox in. Kira blinks and the orange flickers out, just for a moment. It’s all Cora needs. She rushes at Kira, throwing the other girl on her back. The sword falls out of Kira’s hand and slides away on the sand. Cora pins Kira’s hands next to her head, and ducks her head to Kira’s neck, going for the jugular. She presses her fangs down against the skin, then pulls them back in, and licks along the vein.

A giggle right in her ear makes Cora sit up.

The first thing Cora notices is that Kira’s eyes are a dark brown, almost as dark as her pupils. The expression in them is warm, very different from the hardness of the kitsune. And Kira is blushing furiously, obviously having a hard time not letting her eyes slide down to Cora’s chest.

‘That was a little gross,’ Kira says, scrunching up her face. ‘But thank you.’

Cora can’t help but smile. She moves off Kira and helps her up. Holding onto Kira’s hand, she leads her to the forest. As they step onto the path, they look back. The skinwalkers are standing by the plateau, looking at Cora, impressing her obligation on her. A sudden gust of wind blows sand in their eyes, and Cora shields her face with her arm. When she drops it again, the desert is gone, no trace of it left in the lush green forest.


	10. ...Ever After

Derek blinks open his eyes and for a moment, he has no idea where he is. He appears to be back in the forest, except it smells different than he remembers. He’s surrounded by people, can hear their heartbeats close by, heartbeats that are familiar and strange at the same time. He pushes himself up to standing, the movement awkward because his clothes feel strange, too tight, then shakes his head to clear the disorientation. He doesn’t even remember going to sleep.

It’s not until he’s standing up and sees the rest of the pack shaking off their own dazes that he remembers what happened. He remembers the fay shining brightly, and then… The fay must have knocked them unconscious, because everything that happened after must have been a dream; Stiles, the kiss, Cora, Laura. Of course Laura had been a dream.

Hurt, anger and sadness fill Derek’s chest, and he sees the same emotions reflected in the faces of his pack. There is still a flicker of happiness right next to his heart, left over from the dream, but knowing that the feeling is based on a lie only fuels the anger.

He searches for Stiles, and finds him already on his feet and walking away. Some of the others are still getting their bearings, but Lydia and Jordan are not far behind Stiles. The fay has disappeared, barely even a trace of their scent left, so there’s no point in staying, anyway.

Nobody calls after him when Derek leaves the clearing and makes his way to his car.

It’s almost dawn by the time he gets home. He takes a quick shower, then puts on comfortable clothes and lies down on his couch. He’s tired, but doesn’t want to sleep, afraid to dream again, only to wake up with nothing.

Derek punches the throw pillow under his head, anger quickly taking the upper hand in the mess of emotions swirling through his chest and head. It’s easy to be angry at the fay, talking about true love and happy endings, then giving them a fairy tale dream, giving them everything they want, before ripping it all away again. Derek’s real life is anything but a fairy tale. Definitely no happy endings here.

Tears cloud his vision. The ache of Laura’s death, the longing for both of his sisters, is almost as strong as when it was all still fresh. He squeezes his eyes shut tightly to dispel the tears, but one escapes, and he wipes it away furiously.

Despite trying his best to stay awake, he’s on the cusp of sleep when footsteps, running up the stairs to his apartment, startle him awake and upright. Stiles, Derek thinks. But, no, the footsteps are too light, though not light enough to be Kira or Malia. Lydia then.

As he makes his way to his front door, Derek checks the time. Still morning. This is going to be a long day.

He opens the door just as Lydia reaches his floor.

‘Hey,’ Derek greets her.

‘Did I wake you?’ Lydia asks, walking past him into the apartment.

Derek shakes his head and follows her to the couch. As he sit down next to her, he notices the redness around Lydia’s eyes. The smells of grief and anger hang like a cloud around her.

‘Tell me about her. Tell me about Laura,’ Lydia says.

‘Wh—‘ It clicks before Derek finishes his question. ‘You saw her, too.’

‘And Allison,’ Lydia nods.

Without thinking about it, Derek pulls her in and hugs her tight.

‘I’m sorry,’ he whispers into her hair.

‘Me too.’ Lydia pulls back, wiping fresh tears from her cheeks.

‘I still have some pictures of her somewhere. I’ll be right back.’

There is a box, tucked away in his bedroom closet, containing everything that could be salvaged from the fire. It isn’t much; some drawings he, Laura and Cora made when they were little; an ugly vase his grandmother had given his mom; an old shirt from his dad. There’s a photo album in there as well. The edges of the pages are scorched, and he’s never been able to completely clear the soot off the cover, but all the pictures are still intact.

When he comes back to the living room he finds Malia sitting next to Lydia, both of them clutching a mug of tea, a third mug on the table.

‘Erica and Boyd,’ Malia explains.

‘Goddammit,’ Derek mutters, furious.

He knows the stories about the cruelties of Fae, but this is a bit much. Why would it show them all the things they can never have? He sits down next to his cousin and pulls them in for a quick hug. With both Lydia and Malia here, asking him about former packmates, Derek doesn’t know where to start.

‘Start with Laura,’ Malia says. ‘I’d like to know about her, too.’

It’s as good, and painful, a place as any other, Derek thinks and opens the photo album. It’s an old one. Laura is about thirteen in the first couple pictures. She’d probably kill him if she knew he was showing these to people. But before he can start the story of how Laura almost revealed the werewolf secret during a talent show, his phone rings. With some surprise, he sees that it’s Jackson.

‘What the hell did you idiots do this time?!’ Jackson yells.

Derek pulls the phone away from his ear, cringing. Malia and Lydia look at him in confusion.

‘I’m on my way to class and I pass out! In the middle of the street! What the fuck?!’

‘Jac-‘

‘Did you piss someone off? I wouldn’t be surprised, because you dimwits have a real talent for it.’

‘Jackson,’ Derek finally manages to say. ‘We were ambushed. A fay put us under.’

‘Right…’

Derek explains what happened, ignoring the huffs and curses from the other side of the line.

‘That’s fucked up,’ Jackson says when Derek is finished, stating the obvious. When Jackson gives a short version of what happened to him, Derek can’t help but be relieved that at least one person can bring over their happy ending to the real world.

‘So, what’s the deputy’s number?’ Jackson asks after a short silence.

‘I’ll text it to you,’ Derek assures him, then hangs up after saying goodbye.

Lydia is looking at him expectantly. Malia, who must’ve heard every word, is sipping their tea.

‘Jackson got pulled into the dream world as well,’ Derek explains. ‘Apparently he and Jordan were in love.’

‘Hmm. Makes sense,’ Lydia nods, after considering it for a moment. ‘Also, I’ve been thinking. What if it wasn’t a dream?’

It’s Derek’s turn to raise his eyebrows and look at Lydia for an explanation.

‘What if it was an alternate universe? An alternate dimension?’ Lydia continues. ‘Fae are from a different dimension and have the power to travel between them. What if this one sent us somewhere we all have happy endings? Showed us what might have been?’

‘That’s a new one,’ Malia mutters, still sipping their tea.

‘It’s nice to know the universe, or the multiverse, still has new things to throw at us,’ Derek agrees.

‘Fucking universe,’ Malia says.

Lydia huffs out a laugh, then taps the photo album in Derek’s lap.

Right, Laura. Derek opens the album and turns it so Lydia and Malia can better see the pictures, and starts his story about his big sister. He goes back as far as he can remember, but skips over the fire and the period right after. He’s getting better at thinking of the happy times, but that year was the worst of his life. It’s still too hard to linger on it for longer than a moment. He stops the story when Laura left New York to go back to Beacon Hills. They all know what happened next.

He’s just starting on how he recruited Boyd and Erica when there’s a knock on the door. Only two people in the pack actually knock, and only one of them is a wolf.

‘Come in, Scott,’ Derek says, barely raising his voice.

‘Hey,’ Scott says, stepping inside with a big grin on his face. It falters when he catches the mood in the room. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Your news first. It seems a lot happier than ours,’ Lydia says.

‘Isaac’s coming back!’ Scott beams, mostly in Derek’s direction. ‘He went into the dream as well, and turns out we, uhm…’

‘Were head over heels for each other?’ Derek finishes for him. He feels no jealousy about Isaac coming back for Scott and not him. He’s just happy that someone is getting some good out of this.

Scott nods enthusiastically.

‘So what’s going on here?’ he asks, sitting down in the big armchair.

Lydia explains quickly and concisely, including her theory about the other dimension.

‘That’s so weird. Stiles is gonna love this.’ Scott grins, pulls out his phone and starts texting furiously.

Derek feels his chest squeeze at the mention of Stiles, making Malia and Scott look at him funny, before a look of understanding appears on Scott’s face.

‘He’ll come.’

Derek looks down at his hands, then turns his attention back to Malia. ‘So, Erica and Boyd.’

This time, Scott and Lydia pitch in with their own stories. When the story is finished, Malia is smiling but is also a lot more angry.

‘I would have liked them. Especially Erica,’ they say.

‘That would’ve been mildly terrifying,’ Scott can’t help but chuckle.

Malia smacks him in the face with a pillow. Scott’s delighted outrage and revenge with his own pillow, while Lydia quickly scrambles out of reach of the flailing limbs, reminds Derek of the play fights he used to have with Laura. Maybe, despite the cruelty of it, their dream, or trip to another dimension, might be healing the pack and give them some measure of a happy ending, after all.

Malia and Scott’s little wrestling match is interrupted by another knock on the front door.

Lydia opens the door to a smiling Kira.

‘Who did you get?’ Scott asks, worming himself out of Malia’s headlock.

‘Cora,’ Kira grins.

Derek isn’t surprised. Cora and Kira have gotten along great since they were introduced over Facetime one day, and Cora asked for Kira’s number right after. The two of them have been great friends, and apparently something else too, ever since.

‘She’s going to call you any minute,’ Kira tells him, just when Derek’s phone rings.

‘I’m on my way,’ Cora says.

‘Does nobody say hello on the phone anymore?’ Derek grumbles.

‘No.’

‘When?‘

‘A couple hours, if I keep driving like this,’ Cora says.

Derek sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. Cora is a maniac behind the wheel, but he also knows there is no point in telling her that speed limits exist for a reason.

‘Be careful and watch out for cops,’ he says instead.

‘See you soon, Der.’

He hangs up the phone with a smile, jumping when it rings again almost immediately. This time it’s Isaac.

‘I’m flying to London in an hour, then me and Jackson will be flying together the rest of the way there. We should land in San Fran in about fourteen hours.’

Derek shakes his head at the lack of another hello. ‘Do you want us to pick you up?’

‘I can think of a couple people we’d like to see as soon as possible,’ Isaac grins.

Derek chuckles. ‘We’ll be there.’

Something is definitely settling. Cora is coming back. Isaac and Jackson are coming back. Despite the relighted embers of grief, both for himself and Lydia, the atmosphere in the apartment is lighter than it has been for weeks.

‘I want pizza,’ Malia declares, their head on Lydia’s shoulder.

‘You know how the phone works and where the menus are,’ Derek says, his own stomach rumbling in agreement with Malia. He hadn’t realized it was already past lunch. Talking about Laura, and Erica and Boyd took longer than he thought.

While they wait for the pizzas, the mood remains fairly light. They all exchange stories of what happened while they were unconscious, and speculate on what Jackson and Jordan’s dream might have been, exactly. Jackson wasn’t very forthcoming with specifics. Scott is furiously typing on his phone the entire time, Derek assumes to live-text everything to Stiles. He tries not to think about not having heard anything from Stiles himself as he watches Scott type, and then chuckle at Stiles’ responses

‘It’s like we landed in an episode of Once Upon a Time,’ Malia says.

The others give them a confused look.

‘You know, the show where fairy tales are real and sent to our world because of a curse from the Evil Queen.’ When everyone looks even more confused, they glare. ‘I do watch TV, you know.’

‘I always figured Stiles was more the Red Riding Hood type,’ Lydia muses out loud.

‘Red Riding Hood was a werewolf on that show,’ Malia adds.

‘Malia watches fantasy shows? Guys, I think we’re still dreaming,’ Scott says, eyes wide in mock-shock.

He’s saved from another wrestling match by the doorbell.

‘Pizza,’ Malia grins. They dash out the door, but comes trudging back a minute later without pizza and with Jordan on their heels. ‘Not the pizza guy.’

‘I have thought about making a career change, though,’ Jordan smirks.

‘Don’t. The tips are terrible,’ Derek says, remembering when he used to deliver pizzas in New York.

‘What was your story?’ Kira asks before Jordan even sits down.

‘What?’

‘The fairy tale your dream resembled,’ she elaborates.

‘Oh. Sleeping Beauty.’

Scott’s jaw drops, then he bursts out laughing. ‘Please tell me Jackson was the princess.’

‘Kind of. He was also the dragon, though.’

‘Stiles is going to love this,’ Scott sniggers.

The doorbell rings again, and this time Malia triumphantly returns with a stack of pizzas, which are quickly taken off her hands. They eat while Jordan tells the whole story of what happened between him and Jackson in the dream-slash-alternate reality. Derek lets himself zone out of Jordan’s story a little, his mind drifting back to what he dreamed about him and Stiles.

They’re debating whether they should watch Once Upon a Time and see if there are any clues hidden in the show—this tends to happen more often than Derek thought—when a new set of footsteps sound on the stairs. Derek frowns, trying to identify the tread. It’s familiar, in the way someone you haven’t seen in a long time is, but you can’t put the right name to the face. Scott’s heard the footsteps, too, and must recognize them, because he’s looking from the door to Derek with wide, confused eyes.

The knock on the door is loud enough to make everyone freeze. Except for Scott, who jumps up and throws open the door, then throws himself at the person on the other side without hesitation. Scott’s heartbeat is going crazy and they all get up to see the person Scott is hugging so tightly. Derek feels Lydia’s nails dig into his arm when they see her.

‘Hey, Scott,’ Allison says, then awkwardly waves at them, since Scott is still squeezing her tightly.

Lydia is trembling slightly, her heart tripping over itself just as much as Scott’s. When Derek looks at her, he sees she’s gone pale, and tears trail down her cheeks. Scott lets go of Allison, ushering her into the apartment. Allison has barely taken two steps inside when Lydia launches herself at the other girl, legs wrapping around Allison’s waist, and buries her head in Allison’s neck. Allison laughs as she catches Lydia.

‘How long?’ Allison asks, running her fingers through Lydia’s hair.

‘Almost two years,’ Derek tells her, clearing his voice when it comes out strained. He’s blinking furiously, scenting the air, so sure this can’t be real, even if all his senses are telling him it is. ‘How are you back?’

‘I’m not sure,’ Allison shrugs. ‘But I can tell you all about it once I’ve gotten cleaned up.’

Lydia drops her legs to stand on her own feet, but she keeps a tight hold on Allison’s hand. With nobody blocking his view, Derek sees the dirt on Allison’s feet, and her tattered clothes. It looks like she actually crawled out of her grave.

‘Lydia can show you the bathroom. ‘I’ll get you some clothes and put them by the bathroom door.’

‘Thank you,’ Allison smiles, then pulls him in for a quick, one-armed hug as he walks past her.

Derek hugs her back, trying not to let it fuel the small flicker of hope in his chest. Because if Allison came back…

When Allison is cleaned up, and she and Lydia remerge from the bathroom, the first thing that happens is that Allison gets overwhelmed by hugs. Laughing, she disappears under a pile of bodies, while Lydia goes to the kitchen to get Allison something to eat and drink.

It takes a while for everyone to more or less settle down again. Lydia and Allison are plastered to each other’s sides, Malia’s toes tucked under Lydia’s thighs as Allison tells Malia her own stories about Erica and Boyd, even the ones that make her look bad.

Scott decides to call Liam, Hayden and Mason. It’s turning out to be quite the pack gathering, and they are pack.

Kira helps Derek create a little more room by moving the coffee table out of the way and putting the throw pillows on the floor for anyone who doesn’t have a seat on the couches or the armchair. Lydia, Scott and Malia are busy helping Allison catch up with everything that’s happened in the past two years.

When the younger packmembers walk in, Liam says, ‘There’s a girl coming up the stairs and she looks vaguely pissed. She also kind of smells like werewolf.’

‘That’s because I am a werewolf,’ Cora growls, pushing past Liam into the apartment and making a beeline for Kira.

Derek stares at the ceiling. He’s happy for his sister, but he really doesn’t need to see this. Or hear this. Or, jeez, smell this. He coughs pointedly, returning Cora’s glare with his own. He tries to back up when Cora approaches him with a sweet smile on her face, but he’s not quick enough to evade Cora’s punch to his shoulder.

‘What was that for?’ he groans, rubbing the sore spot.

‘You’re my brother,’ Cora grins. ‘I’ve missed you.’

Derek huffs and rolls his eyes, pulling his little sister in for a quick hug. ‘I’ve missed you, too.’

Like Allison, Cora disappears underneath a pile of bodies when everyone tries to hug her at the same time. Their three youngest packmembers look on the scene with confusion. When Cora finally manages to extract herself and sit down next to Kira on the floor, she asks, ‘Got any food?’

‘I’ll order Chinese,’ Derek says, looking at the pile of empty pizza boxes. It’ll be dinner time soon anyway.

‘Get one of everything!’ Cora shouts after him as he goes to grab the menu from the nearest restaurant.

‘Yeah, yeah,’ he mumbles, but freezes mid step.

His foot hangs frozen in the air, then thumps down heavily on the floor. Cora is suddenly next to him, gripping his arm tightly. Her claws are coming out and digging into his arm, but Derek doesn’t care. He hadn’t recognized Allison’s footsteps or her heartbeat. She’d been part of Scott’s pack, and he’d trusted her because of that, but he’d never gotten to the point where he trusted Allison. In the end, they’d been more like allies, than friends. There are some footsteps, some heartbeats, you can never forget.

Derek feels Cora jump a little at the voice carrying up the stairs.

‘Derek Skylar Hale! What the fuck did you do?!’

‘Oh my god,’ Derek whispers, half relieved, half terrified, when he find his voice again.

‘That’s…’ Cora starts, but doesn’t seem able to finish the sentence.

The banging on the door nearly throws it out of its hinges. Derek can feel the rest of the pack’s gazes on himself and Cora, frozen in the middle of the apartment. After another set of bangs rattles the door, Kira quickly opens it. A furious looking Laura, eyes blazing red, with Erica and Boyd right behind her, storms in.

And then everything dissolves into complete chaos. Scott’s Alpha instincts triggered, he throws himself between Laura and the rest of the pack, Liam and Hayden on either side of him, eyes blazing, teeth bared.

It all probably takes less than a minutes to resolve, but to Derek, it feels like it takes hours. Lydia and Allison plant themselves between the two Alphas to keep them from going at each other’s throats. Jordan grabs Hayden’s wrist, while Mason grabs Liam’s, and Kira grabs Scott’s, pulling them back. Allison and Lydia hustle the three newcomers to the bathroom to clean up and calm down, since, like Allison, they look like they just crawled out of their graves. Kira helps Derek and Cora, who are still clinging to each other, sit down.

Derek and Cora fling themselves at their sister the moment she steps a foot out of the bathroom. Derek can hear the rest of the pack welcoming Boyd and Erica back behind him. He has a little trouble letting go of Laura, and Cora appears to have the same trouble, so they do an awkward shuffle to the couch, before sitting down.

Laura keeps looking at Derek for an explanation for, well, probably everything: the tight hug, the other Alpha in the room, how she just came back to life, but all Derek can do is stare at his big sister. His thoughts and feelings are a mess, and he wouldn’t even know where to start.

In the end, it’s Scott who breaks the silence.

‘This is so weird. I saw you dead!’ he exclaims, looking at Laura. ‘I mean, the top half of you, because that was the part that Derek had buried in his backyard.’

Derek flushes when Laura throws him a questioning look.

‘I have a feeling this story is going to be good,’ Laura says, settling back into the couch with her arms crossed, waiting for someone to actually tell the story.

The story comes out in little bits, told by different people. Malia is introduced as the newly found member of the Hale family. Cora also tells her own story of how she got out of the fire and survived. There’s a short break where they finally order food, and then another break when it arrives.

Mason and Jordan are telling the story of The Beast, when Derek’s happiness at having not just his sister, but his Betas back—even though he’s a Beta now too—finally settles in. He looks around the room, at all the happy faces. Laura and Cora next to him, with Kira sitting on the floor by Cora’s legs. Lydia and Allison cuddled together. Malia and Erica whispering conspiratorially, while Boyd smiles and adds something to the conversation every once in awhile, always earning happy grins from both Malia and Erica. Liam is sitting in Hayden’s lap, Mason next to them. Scott still has his phone in his lap, even though he isn’t texting Stiles anymore. He keeps looking at the time, like he can will it to go faster, can will Isaac’s plane to land sooner. Jordan seems to be wishing for the same superpowers as Scott, judging by the way he keeps looking at the clock.

Derek is literally drowning in happiness, the scent filling up all the space between the air molecules, coming off everyone in the apartment. Except for Derek himself. He’s happy, of course he is, but there’s this little kernel of hope that is almost entirely smashed to pieces. With each knock and each phone call, his heart had jumped, thinking that finally Stiles had come, but each time he’d been disappointed. Now, night is falling again, and Derek knows Stiles isn’t coming anymore.

To keep his mind from wandering back to Stiles every couple of seconds, Derek decides to gather all the blankets and pillows in his apartment to make an enormous bed in the living room. It’s not likely anyone will be going home tonight. While Mason cheerfully continues on the story of The McCall Pack Adventures, the rest help clear as much space as possible. It’s quickly done, with most of them being werewolves. Scott and Laura quickly figured out that they work well together and that they both believe in delegating, sitting at the dining room table while ordering around everyone else. Derek hopes Laura doesn’t get used to it, because the only reason he’s not making her help carry his king-size mattress to the living room, is because she’s newly risen from the dead.

None of the pack seems to have gotten much sleep last night, because the moment they start crawling under the blankets and curling up against one another, soft snores fill the apartment. The only ones not lying down are Scott and Jordan, who are getting ready to go to the airport to pick up Jackson and Isaac. Derek lies down at the edge of the makeshift mattress. His body is tired, but his mind is still reeling from everything that’s happened this day. He closes his eyes anyway and tries to let the whispered sound of the conversation between Laura and Malia, lull him to sleep.

He shoots upright when his ears catch the slow footsteps on the stairs. Those footsteps, and the accompanying jumping heartbeat, have him up and standing by the door in half a second. He’s too scared to open the door yet, scared that he’s misleading himself, hallucinating things. It wouldn’t be the first time. Even when Scott mutters, ‘Fucking finally’, Derek keeps the door closed, his hand on the doorknob. Not until Stiles sets foot on the landing and Derek can hear his breathing, does Derek open the door.

‘Hey,’ Derek breathes out, quickly stepping aside to let Stiles in.

‘Heeey,’ Stiles says, a nervous tremor in his voice. He shuffles forward, past Derek. Stiles stops to look at the improvised bed in the middle of the apartment. He looks impressed, and Derek feels pride swell in his chest. It had been his idea after all.

‘Dude, this loo—‘ Stiles stops to stare at something with his mouth open. ‘Oh my god! Scott told me, but… You’re dead!’ Stiles squeaks, pointing at Laura. ‘I saw you! Well, half of you—‘

‘Because that was the half Derek buried in his yard. So I’ve heard,’ Laura grins, untangling herself from the bodies and sheets around her and sitting up. ‘So, you’re Stiles.’

‘Wait, where are…’ Stiles starts, but gets interrupted by a pouting and affronted Erica.

‘I’m a little insulted you noticed her first. I thought we had something special.’

‘Not to mention that he actually knows us,’ Allison adds.

Boyd doesn’t get a chance to make a remark, because Stiles has already thrown himself onto  the bed, in the middle of his returned friends. There are several half-hearted complaints, and threats of throwing Stiles out the window if he doesn’t get his elbows out of their sides, but nobody seems to have the energy to follow through.

‘Wait,’ Stiles says, pulling back from his bone crushing hug with Allison. ‘You’re not zombies, are you?’

‘Well, we do bite,’ Erica winks, flashing her fangs.

‘I’m not getting a hug?’ Cora interrupts from where she’s lying next to Kira, several people over from Allison.

Stiles quickly scrambles over Hayden and Mason to get to her. Cora punches him in the arm, softly.

‘Hey, why does he get a friendly punch?’ Derek complains, remembering the faint bruise he’d felt after Cora had punched him.

‘He’s human. He’s fragile,’ Cora grins, earning her own punch from Stiles.

Stiles finishes hugging everyone who’s come back, even a slightly awkward one with Laura, then he scrambles up and moves to Derek.

‘Can we talk with at least the illusion of privacy?’ Stiles asks.

Derek nods and lets himself be led to his bedroom.

‘So how did that start, exactly?’ Stiles nods toward the living room.

‘Lydia was the first to stop by. Wanted to know about Laura. Then Malia came to talk about Erica and Boyd, and then slowly everyone else started showing up. I guess you know most of it from Scott.’

Stiles nods, looking everywhere but at Derek’s face. Derek wants to ask him what took him so long. Why is Stiles the last to show up, when in the dream—

‘I wasn’t sure you wanted me here,’ Stiles blurts out, answering the question that somehow must’ve shown on Derek face.

Derek frowns, confused. Why wouldn’t he want Stiles here?

‘You didn’t call or text, so I figured… You know,’ Stiles shrugs, trying, and failing spectacularly, at nonchalance.

As he looks into Stiles’ dejected face, Derek wants to kick himself. He hadn’t even thought of calling or texting Stiles, so sure that Stiles would make the first move.

‘I’m an idiot,’ Derek says. He reaches for Stiles’ hand, unable to help his own smile when Stiles reaches for his in return, and links their fingers. ‘I didn’t— The others just showed up, so I figured you would, too. You usually do.’

Stiles huffs out a laugh, stepping closer so they’re chest to chest. ‘So it’s okay if I stay?’

‘That would be perfect,’ Derek says. He closes the distance between them, pressing a kiss against Stiles’ lips. The hand not clasping Stiles’ grips Stiles’ hip. That little kernel of hope Derek thought had been smashed suddenly blooms, taking up all the space in Derek’s chest, leaving no room to take in air. Stiles hands are on Derek’s face, and they feel warm and comforting, like home. Stiles bites down softly on Derek’s bottom lip, eliciting a soft sigh from Derek. Derek is about to return the favour when Laura’s furious shout makes them jump apart.

‘You showed them the pictures of the talent show?!’ There’s the tremor of a roar, just behind the words.

‘I know there’s no mattress on the bed, but how about we stay in here for a little while?’ Derek asks, glancing nervously at the door.

Stiles pulls him back in with a bright laugh.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [tumblr](http://fandom-madnessess.tumblr.com/).


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